


Pendulum

by ChevySK, Zphal



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smoking, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-20
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 17:09:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 63
Words: 408,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChevySK/pseuds/ChevySK, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zphal/pseuds/Zphal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two highschoolers with brilliant minds and troubled lives find they have a lot in common. While Bruce struggles to cope in an abusive family, Tony longs for an intimacy he's never known. As the boys grow closer, can Bruce overcome his hang-ups about being in a relationship? And what role will Tony's heart condition play?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

# Pendulum

## Chapter I

### pen·du·lum

   [pen-j _uh_ -l _uh_ m, pen-d _uh_ -]  
 _ **noun**_  
1\. used to refer to the tendency of a situation to oscillate between one extreme and another.

 

In retrospect, Tony _could_ have used his time in detention to look back in regret on what had landed him there.  In all honesty, he tried, but it was a lost cause.  Plus Ms. Barnes was getting visibly annoyed with his stifled laughter by now.   _‘Hard to regret it when it’s still funny,’_ Tony rolled his eyes in her direction for what felt like the hundredth time.  It wasn’t his fault that old fossil picked the short straw and got stuck monitoring detention that afternoon.  Sure it was his fault he was in here, but it was her fault she was a teacher.  And really, which one of them was supposed to be old enough to know better?

In Tony’s defense, it was a pretty sweet performance, even if it did get cut short.  Setting up the PA system to play Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick In The Wall” might not have been the most original idea ever, but from the moment he’d stood up on his chair and hopped up onto the stage, all eyes in that auditorium were on him... and he loved it.  He’d just started to get the rest of the crowd shouting back the chorus, when the song cut off with an audible pop and he was spun around to meet eyes with Coach Bennett, his prick of a gym teacher.  He didn’t seem too pleased.

 _‘Can’t understand why.’_ Tony thought flippantly, _‘People actually paid attention to a school assembly for once.’_

At the moment he was seated at the front of the classroom, in the far right desk, scrawling some grafitti into the aged surface of his desk and making eyes at a platinum blonde with too much eyeliner about two desks to his left.  She was smacking her gum and eyeing him shamelessly.  She wasn’t really his type, in fact with the hair and the eyes she reminded Tony of a raccoon in a tube top, but it was always nice to know he hadn’t lost his touch.  Not like he ever would.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Banner guy about two seats back and to the left.  This, in itself was noticeably out of the norm.  That guy usually was as far from the front as humanly possible.  Now driven by boredom and curiosity, Tony dismissed the raccoon chick and turned to face the guy.  What was his name, Bruce? Either way, this should kill some of his time.

“Bruce, right?  Hey.  Tony Stark.  Nice to meet me, I know.  Likewise.  Notice you moved up a couple seats.  Just curious, to whom do we owe your miraculous integration into society?”

Bruce had been perfectly content to have his nose within the pages of Giancoli’s 6th Edition AP Physics textbook that afternoon in detention.  In fact, it was his preferred state.  Uninterrupted, undisturbed, left to his own devices and given space.  The utterance of his name broke this trend, and the young man lifted his eyes from the lines of 9-point text.  He knew Tony Stark; there hadn’t been a need for introduction (though the other teen had made it obvious he knew that himself with the very next sentence out of his mouth).  It would have been much harder not to know Tony, what with his continuous show-offish behavior and pretentious, out-going nature around school.  Unlike the majority of his classmates, however, Bruce was not impressed by the way he conducted himself.  Entertained, possibly, on rare occassion.  Impressed, no.  Nor did he see much of a reason to indulge him.

“Your reputation precedes you,” he responded flatly as his eyes returned to his book.  “I’d hardly classify moving up two rows ‘miraculous’.”  The teenager flipped the page with an air of disinterest.  “I don’t have to ask what happened to grace us with your presence,” he added sarcastically.  All in all, he’d admit it had been an amusing prank, you know, as far as pleas for attention went.  Bruce knew he ought to leave well enough alone and simply go back to his reading, but if there was one person in this room (or the whole school for that matter) capable of giving Tony a run for his money in the brains department, it was him.  He paused to look up at him again.  “But I will ask, is it that you’re actually concerned about the treatment of students in the public education system or that you want everyone to think you are?”  He allowed an eyebrow to flick upward on his forehead and a ghost of a smile to deform his lips.

Tony had anticipated many different reactions, but he hadn’t expected indifference.  It reminded him of his old man. He swallowed back that bitter taste, pressing on. After all, this guy can’t be completely indifferent if he bothered to answer.

“For you, yes, moving up two rows is a miracle.” Tony responded, turning around to sit backwards, so he could address the guy face to face.  “Aren’t you usually brooding in the back corner with your textbook of choice? Ah. Speak of the devil.”  He reached over and plucked the textbook out of the bespectacled boy’s hands.  He took care to place his index finger in between the two pages the other was reading, before flipping it around to peek at its contents.

“I already finished this one.  It’s on the kindle back home.  Don’t worry, I won’t spoil the ending for you.” Tony said sarcastically, looking down at the text in his hand and pretending to flip through the pages.  “You never did tell me why you switched seats.  Kind of bad form to ask a question after dodging one.”  His eyes flicked back and forth between Bruce and his book, a playful grin spreading across his face.

Having his book taken away from him struck a nerve.  His father’s anger surged through his blood, to the point where he practically saw red, teeth clenching in his skull.  It was what had landed him here-- when three jocks made the poor (and incredibly cliché) decision to ‘take his lunch money’.  They hadn’t anticipated being up against two years of Brazilian Jiu Jitsu.  From what he’d heard, they’d spent the day in the infirmary, and perhaps some sick and twisted part of him was proud to hear the linebacker’s nose would never be the same.

His eyes narrowed on Tony’s smug grin.  This kid needed to be taken down a notch.  Honestly, Bruce didn’t care how many more detentions he had to stay after school to serve.  The more the better.  At least he wouldn’t have to go home and listen to the beatings.

The teenager stood from his seat, and in two steps, he was over to Tony’s desk.  He seized the other student by the back of the collar and with a fluid motion, Bruce yanked him from his seat, tripping his legs out from under him.  His back slammed hard into the filthy linoleum, knocking the air out of his lungs and leaving him gasping to get it back.

Bruce leaned down over him.  “My regular seat is taken, _genius_ ,” he growled before tugging his book out of Tony’s grip.

“Banner!” the teacher’s voice rang out sharply.

The dangerous pendulum between calm and his rage swung back to the other side.  He readjusted the glasses on his nose.  “Sorry, Ms. Barnes, just needed my book back,” he explained, taking it and himself back to his seat.  She may not have wholly believed that, but he knew she wouldn’t dare mess with him either.

Once Tony regained his bearings and sat up, he shot a look at the the bastard who had so abruptly upended him.  Sure, it wasn’t the nicest thing he could have done to the guy, but it wasn’t like he was trying to piss him off.  Though the way those eyes lit up when he got angry. They were practically glowing for a second.  Tony had never seen a rage like that before, and his more daring side was slightly intrigued.

“Thanks,” he half-groaned, half-whispered as he made to stand up.  In spite of any sense of self preservation he should have naturally possessed, he sauntered over to the desk where Banner had sat himself back down.  Not breaking eye contact, he plopped down in the nearest desk and turned it to face the other boy, who seemed to be torn between subtly glaring back and picking up where he left off in his textbook.

Ms. Barnes looked like she might have said something if she wasn’t so wary of both Banner’s temper and Tony’s family’s influence over... well, pretty much everything really.

He paused for a breath and continued, “I mean, I know I’m a genius, but I enjoy hearing it every once in a while.”  He shot Bruce a slightly less conceited smirk (not by much), “No need for the emphasis, though, slugger.”

Bruce had expected Tony to leave him alone after one good dump on his ass, so the fact that he _persisted_ intrigued Bruce somewhat.  Attributable, perhaps, to being a glutton for punishment as much as an attention whore.  He gave a derisive snort at the other teen’s remark on ‘emphasis’-- Bruce should have known the kid would thrive on it; that was his mistake.  He wet his lips carefully.  “I’ll add emphasis where I think it needs it,” he spoke lowly, giving the knuckles of his fists a crack.

“Alright, I get it.”  Tony held his hands up, trying to make it look like feigned surrender, but it came off looking almost like a flinch.  He never dropped his signature smile, but it softened a bit. “Don’t want you giving me a nose job too.  Though I gotta hand it to ya, that was the second most entertaining thing that’s happened all day.”

“Hm...” Bruce acknowledged as he returned to the chapter on endothermic reactions.  “I’ll agree with you there... second after I threw you to the floor.”

Tony couldn’t help what happened next.  In spite of himself, he found it impossible not to double over as he snorted out a short laugh.  He was just lucky he caught himself before he fell out of his chair again.

“I had you pegged wrong. I guess there _is_ a personality somewhere in there.”  He sighed out after he’d caught his breath.

Bruce’s eyebrow lifted.  “Admitting you could possibly have been incorrect?  Guess I had you pegged wrong too.”  A sliver of a smile cracked his features.

“Banner! Stark! This isn’t a chatroom!” Ms. Barnes interjected shrilly, causing Tony to bow his head slightly and Bruce to draw his book up in front of his face.

“Well screw us for trying to have an intelligent conversation...” Tony whispered in Bruce’s direction, “Awkward, hostile, and potentially violent, but still the most intelligent I’ve had in this nuthouse.”

Bruce shook his head; clearly Tony had never bore witness to the kind of violent ‘conversations’ he had.  He shoved that thought to the back of his mind.

“X-Box?” Tony piped up suddenly, breaking him from his musings.

“Beg your pardon?” Bruce questioned the logical leap.

“X-Box,” Tony repeated himself, his tone implying that he didn’t need to elaborate, “do you play?”

Bruce shot him a look of ‘Are you insane?’  “I deck three jocks, and you think it’s a good idea to invite me over to play rage-inducing videogames?”  Half of him was incredulous, the other part... curious why such an invitation would be extended to him of all people.  The last time he’d visited someone else’s house, he’d broken their living room.

Tony tilted his head slightly, purposely missing the point, “Wii?”

Hitherto, Bruce’s smiles had all been wry, but this time his lips twisted into an actual smile of genuine amusement, a half-chuckle working its way up his throat.  He let his book rest on the table, drumming his fingers upon it thoughtfully.  “I suppose you have a 56” plasma TV to play it on as well?”

“Just one,” Tony responded, then raised an eyebrow in mock-confusion before continuing, “But why would you want to play in the kitchen?”

“Snacks?” Bruce theorized.

“Nah, we keep all the good stuff in the concession stand, next to the chocolate milk fountain.” Tony said with obvious sarcasm.

Bruce snorted.  “Sounds like Candyland,” he mumbled.  He couldn’t recall when he’d last had a conversation last this long (even if Tony was doing the majority of the talking).  Most of everyone had learned to leave him be and keep their distance.  His eyes shifted to the clock on the wall-- the minute hand indicated time for conversation was just about up.

“Ha.  We bought those morons out last year.  Didn’t you read the article in Forbes?” Tony said trying to sound as snobby as possible as he continued, “Oh and the Clue mansion.  It was on the market for cheap, considering someone died in there.”

“Uh huh,” Bruce responded in a disbelieving tone.

It’s funny, most of Tony’s classmates would have simply jumped at the opportunity, and here Bruce seemed to be more into their juvenile banter. Come to think of it, this was probably the first time in recent memory that Tony had been talking _to_ a classmate rather than _at_ them.

“Anyway, I’ll order a pizza,” he shrugged, just before the late bell rang signaling the end of detention.  He picked up his bag and stood up.

Bruce’s lips pursed; Tony seemed to be making plans before he’d even accepted.  The kid may be amusing, but he wasn’t worth his time.  “Sorry.  I’ve got night classes at the JC,” he said as he slid his textbook into his backpack and zipped it shut.  “Maybe some other time.  I’m sure you can find someone else to _ooh_ and _ahh_ with your toys,” he dismissed.

“But it’s the afternoon,” Tony remarked, gesturing to the clock on the wall, “It’s not even dark yet.”

He paused for a beat, and threw his arms up in mild frustration upon realizing in what the other was implying, “And I was kidding about the milk fountain, genius.”

Bruce’s eyebrow lifted at the mockery.  “Takes one to know one.”  He put his bag on his shoulders.  “I need to study,” he said firmly-- college credits didn’t earn themselves.  He looked at Tony over the top of his glasses.  “Would’ve been easier if someone hadn’t taken my book away.”

Tony rolled his eyes. The guy was getting prickly again. Still he headed for the door so he could beat the other to it, leaning on the doorframe to block his exit just enough to make addressing him necessary to clear a path out..  “If you’re actually busy I can’t make you leave,” He sighed out, eyes downcast.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed down in irritation at the other teen barring his path.

“But,” Tony piped in, holding his hand up as if to say ‘But wait! There’s more!’.  “I _can_ follow you around until you give me a rain check. And trust me, I can go at that for a while. The word ‘no’ and I don’t get along too well, Bruce.” Tony wasn’t really sure why he was pushing this so hard. Maybe he was just curious how far he could push the other before he snapped and got angry again. Maybe he was just tired of going back to an empty room after school and wanted a distraction from it.

This kid was really getting on his last nerve.  No way in Hell was he about to let some selfish, entitled prick boss him around.  “Then try this on for size,” Bruce growled.  He shoved Tony back and out of his way, baring his teeth at him.  “Get. Out. Of. My. Life.”  And with that he stomped off down the hall.

Tony felt the words more than he heard them, like taking a medicine ball to the chest, or swallowing down bile. It didn’t matter if this was just some nerd with a chip on his shoulder that he’d only met five minutes ago. This jackass wanted to push Tony out of sight and mind, and he couldn’t explain what possessed him to growl out at the young man’s retreating back as he stomped after him.

“Hey asshole, hit me if you really wanna, but don’t you fucking try to block me out! I don’t just stop existing when it’s convenient for you!” Tony stopped for just a moment, shocked at his words, before regaining most of his composure.

“Fuck it. I don’t care. My ride’s here. Thanks for wasting my time.” Tony glared darkly, smoothing his hair back before turning heel towards the parking lot.

One might have noticed that Tony’s phone hadn’t buzzed or rang since before detention. In truth, his father’s assistant had texted him between last period and detention, informing him that Howard Stark would be out on a last minute trip for work. She offered to send him a car, seeing as he’d left his at home anticipating a ride (and perhaps some recognition for the school assembly fiasco at the very least). He’d told her in great gruesome detail, where exactly his dad could park that car, before hanging up as crudely as he possibly could. The screen was broken now, but it was alright. He had spares.

He stomped off, no idea where he’d be going that night, but equally sure it would be nowhere near home.

\--

Bruce’s conscience ate at him the rest of the night.  Normally he was quite adroit at pushing away his feelings with academics, but even as he buried himself in lecture and extensive note-taking, it wouldn’t go away... like the buzzing of a tiny gnat in his ear canal.  Bruce tapped the end of his pencil against his notebook with a frown.  He might not want any friends, but he didn’t need any enemies, and for that reason alone he recognized he should attempt to make amends with the other student and put them back on some sort of neutral ground.  Let’s face it, he’d let things get out of hand and over-reacted by getting physical.

Again.

Bruce shut his eyes, feeling the beginning of a migraine swelling between his temples; he slipped the pads of his thumb and forefinger beneath his glasses to push them against his eyelids.   _‘You’re no better than your father...’_ he thought, looking back on the way he’d acted scornfully.

A few minutes later lecture came to an end and Bruce quietly put his things away and removed himself from the classroom.  He trudged across campus to student parking where his moped was parked, fishing his keys out of his khakis to wearily stick them in the ignition.  It was nearly eleven and he was dragging ass-- he’d been up for seventeen hours after all and he was only accruing more as the night wore on.  He put his helmet on and secured the strap around his chin, ignoring the increased throbbing sensation it caused within his skull.  He really wished he had some Advil.

About ten minutes later he turned the corner onto his street.  As soon as he pulled up to the curb, however, it felt like he had ingested lead.  The lights in the downstairs were still on, incandescent light pouring out the front window onto the groomed lawn that failed to disguise the chaos within.

Which made this the second night in a row.

Over the puttering of his moped he could discern back-and-forth shrieking and yelling, too indistinct to make out the subject of the argument.  He turned the throttle and stomped the gas pedal, pulling a hard fast U out of the neighborhood, putting as much distance between him and his house as fast as possible.  He didn’t stop until he’d reached the levee just outside of town.  He stepped off his moped and let it fall onto its side in the dirt, tossing his backpack off his heaving shoulders.  The teenager ripped off his helmet with trembling hands and threw it as hard as he could at the nearest tree trunk with a yell.

A short distance away, Tony, who was curled up skipping rocks into the levee, shot up straight at the sound of a yell and the loud crack of something hard hitting wood.

 _‘Shit!’_  he thought with moderate panic, looking down at all the beer bottles littering the grass and mud beneath his bare feet, _‘Busted.’_

He made to stand up and grab his shoes, possibly sneak away unnoticed before some bumbling pig with nothing better to do came poking around with a flashlight. Unfortunately, in doing so, he knocked one of the unnoticed empties over, clanking into the other ones like a wind chime.

“Aw, Fuck me!” Tony groaned.

Bruce was slightly startled to discover he wasn’t alone out on the levee.  He frowned deeply, stooping to retrieve his helmet and holding it close.  The voice sounded _far_ too familiar for his liking.  “Don’t tell me...” he grimaced, walking in the direction of the source.  Unfortunately, his ears hadn’t deceived him.  There, looking like the proverbial deer-in-the-headlights, was Tony Stark.  And, he noticed, the whole area reeked like alcohol.  His lip curled with distaste.

Tony’s slightly glazed vision focused slowly, his reddened eyes taking in the features of the person in front of him. When he realized who it was, his hand went to cover his face as he groaned yet again. “Oh God dammit. It’s you.” He groaned once again, glaring at the familiar face, “I locked my keys in the house by mistake. I’m _fine_.”

Bruce took stock of the situation pretty quickly.  He set his jaw.  “Save it for someone who’s willing to buy your bullshit,” he muttered, leaning over to grab one of the brown bottles by the neck.  He knew Tony was lying through his teeth and doing a wretched job of it.  Alcohol made anyone easy to read-- Bruce had experience there.

“Go ahead. Take one. I don’t care.” Tony huffed, flopping backwards to lay down, then rolled over onto his side to face away from his hapless visitor, “I’ll be over here leaving you alone. I was doing a pretty good job, you know... 'til you followed me, I mean.”

Bruce gave a snort and sat down in the grass, popping the cap off the beverage with his bare hands.  “Shut up.  You’re drunk.  You don’t know what you’re talking about.”  He took a swig, grimacing at the after-taste.

Tony didn’t respond. He didn’t really say anything for a little while. Long enough that one might have wondered if he hadn’t fallen asleep. If he wanted to be completely honest with himself, Tony felt better now that there was someone there with him. Even if that someone was the last person he’d expect to be here in this place, at this hour. Unfortunately for him and his pride, he hadn’t anticipated company, and he was in a fairly vulnerable state. Part of him really wanted to get out of this situation while there was still dignity left to salvage.

He let out a shaky sigh and he curled up a little tighter instead of rolling over to face the other. He preferred not to make eye contact right now. If the soreness of his eyes were any indication, then they were probably bloodshot as hell. He took another breath, then attempted to sound casual.

“My dad’s a fucking asshole. Why are _you_ here?”

Bruce gave another snort; he was willing to bet Tony’s dad wasn’t half the asshole his was.  Rather than start that unnecessary competition, however, he took another low-blow at the intoxicated teen, “So you’re telling me you come by it honestly?”

“I’m nothing like him!” Tony spat, almost reflexively, before pushing his anger back down, “At least assholes like you and me bother to do it in person.” Tony muttered, punctuating it with a dark chuckle, realizing that’s exactly what Bruce was doing. He rolled back onto his back, glaring at the sky with disdain, “And what about your dad? Does he dodge questions for a living?” 

It was interesting to Bruce to see Tony snap at the accusation-- familiar, perhaps.  With the exception that Bruce had long since left the stage of denial, instead grasping helplessly at the slippery slope that inexorably led him towards personifying his old man through-and-through.  He lifted the bottle to his lips, hesitating.  He wasn’t drinking to get violent, he told himself, he was doing it to dull his senses.  “Atomic physicist,” Bruce replied, answering the wrong question intentionally.

“Yeesh. That bad, huh?” Tony sat up with a low whistle, breaking his stargazing to count all the empty beer bottles on the ground. Yeah. That was gonna be one hell of a hangover in the morning. Thank God for the weekend.

Bruce’s gaze slid over to the teen who had sat up.  “I’d rather not talk about it,” he said lowly.

“Are we making a list of ‘rather not’s now?” Tony turned to look at Bruce with a wry smirk creeping up the side of the corners of his lips. It was true, the subject needed changing, “Because I’d like to add being stalked to the list. For all you know I could have been skinny dipping.”  He tried to put on a face of irritation, but all those rough emotions were starting to get fuzzy around the edges, as his father’s fancy imported ale had finally started to take effect. Tony grabbed another bottle, popping off the top with the opener on his keychain and taking a swig.

 _‘Says the guy who threatened to follow me around,’_ Bruce thought to himself, but he stayed silent instead, figuring it wouldn’t do any good to point out the blatant hypocrisy.  His brow knotted when he heard the already overly-inebriated teen pop the top off another beer.  Before Tony could down more than a swallow, Bruce reached over and yanked it away, spilling a portion across Tony’s chest and the grass.  “I think you’ve had enough,” he said sternly, setting it far away from him.  He shook his head, only now realizing just how _many_ bottles there were in various states of finished and unfinished.  “You honestly brought this many just for yourself?” he asked, somewhere between incredulousness and disapproval.

“Hey!” Tony sputtered, some of the liquid he hadn’t managed to swallow spilling out of his lips. As much of a dick move as it was, Tony didn’t do much to stop the guy. He had a hard enough time intimidating Bruce when he was sober. 

“I hope you don’t plan on wasting that.” He griped, narrowing his eyes, already missing the taste. There went his only distraction. Slightly frustrated, he grabbed a handful of smooth stones and skipped them across the surface of the water one by one in an attempt to break up the reflection of the night sky.

They sat in silence for several minutes on the hillock, Tony skipping rocks while Bruce nursed his ale.  Despite the animosity still lingering between them, it was... peaceful-- the creek lazily lapping the banks as it ran by, the chirping and buzzing of the insect life drawn to the banks, the occasional croak of a toad, the breeze rustling the leaves of the trees and grass around them, and the steady _ploop! ploop!_ each time his companion chucked another rock across the surface.  Bruce felt a calmness gradually seep into him as he listened to all the elements, relaxing his body and mind alike.  The sound of water always had a calming effect on him.

The teenager let his head bow.  He’d resolved to set things right with Tony, hadn’t he?  Yes, he hadn’t expected to bump into the other student until school next week, but the timing shouldn’t negate his original intention.  His lips drew into a tight line and he cleared his throat.  “About earlier today...” he started.

Tony flinched, letting out an involuntary yelp. While not the most elegant of responses, after such a long silence he had all but forgotten he wasn’t alone. His companion didn’t have the most cuddly of dispositions either.

“Yeah I know. I’ll leave you alone.” Tony shot back, though it lacked any real fire at this point, “Just... please don’t go telling the whole school you found me getting wasted here.” He stared dejectedly at the ground below Bruce, still too proud to make eye contact.

Bruce lifted an eyebrow.  Now that he’d essentially gotten what he wanted (Tony’s agreement to leave him be), it was tempting to let the subject slide.  But the note of hurt he heard in the other teen’s voice managed to reach a deeply buried part of him.  He shook his head again.  “That’s not what I was getting at.  I wanted to say that I’m sorry.  For being...” he wet his lips, considering his word choice, “mean.”  He wrung his hands.  “I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”  Finished, he looked over at Tony.

_‘Is this guy actually apologising? Go figure.’_

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not all your fault.” Tony shrugged, after a long wide-eyed pause, “From what I’ve heard, I can be kind of pushy. Consider those two free beers a peace offering.” He chuckled out, before standing to shake the man’s hand.

Well it would have been a stand, had his legs not given way under him, leaving him to wobble back down to the ground with a grunt. Not the most graceful way to reconcile, by any stretch of the imagination.

The other teen frowned at Tony’s inability to so much as stand.  He really _had_ had enough to drink.  Bruce glanced around, not seeing any modes of transport such as a bike that he might have used to get to the levee.  “Did you walk here?” he asked just to make sure, though he was fairly certain of the answer.

Tony looked up at Bruce, his face reading ‘no shit’, before slurring slightly, “No, I flew.”

Bruce shook his head.  “Excuse me, smart-ass, I was asking if you needed a ride,” he delivered as he stood and picked his helmet up off the ground, moving towards his moped.

“Pfft, S’all good.” Tony yawned, making to stand once again with a sway, “I’m just a little sleepy is _aaaah shit!_ ” He shouted, stumbling yet again. He wasn’t nearly as lucky this time, tumbling sideways into the water.

Bruce was facing away when he heard the loud splash.  Blinking rapidly behind his spectacles, he turned to see the other teen sloshing about in waist-deep water, soaked and only making himself wetter with each flail of his arms as he tried to make his way to the shore.  Despite his best attempts, Bruce couldn’t keep a straight face, and he doubled over, holding his stomach as peels of laughter rumbled out his chest.

Tony eventually managed to hoist himself back onto dry land, morbidly embarrassed and wishing he could disappear. He probably would have remained in such a state if it weren’t for the pleasant surprise in front of him. As far as he’d remembered seeing, Bruce rarely smiled, and he sure as hell had never seen the guy laugh. He allowed the corner of his mouth to turn up slightly.

“Yeah, fine. I’m a little tipsy.” He said holding up his thumb and forefinger to symbolize how little, “Yeah you can gimme a ride.” He sat up once again, staring down at his shoes and socks and contemplating exactly how he was going to get those back on. His poor intoxicated brain couldn’t really work further or deeper than that at the moment. He just hoped this wouldn’t prove to be the highlight of his weekend.

“Alright.  Just don’t fall off the back; I only have one helmet,” Bruce teased, putting said headgear on and slinging his backpack back over his shoulders.  He stooped to pick his moped up from the ground, frowning at the now broken side-mirror practically dangling off the handlebars.  Great.  He mounted the vehicle.

“Like... on the back?” Tony asked, confused. He slung his bag over his shoulder, having opted to just stuff the sneakers in his backpack. He didn’t think he had the necessary motor skills to do everything that came with putting on a pair.

Bruce just lifted an eyebrow at him with a look of ‘do I really have to answer that question for you?’

“Right, yeah, I just...” Tony stammered scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, “Yeah, sorry.” He finished lamely, trying his best not to stumble the rest of the way, and plopping down on the back of the seat behind Bruce.

Bruce shook his head and waited for the inevitable next question out of Tony’s mouth.

“Uhh... Bruce? What am I supposed to hold on to here?”

“Me,” he elucidated with his typical terseness.

“That’s what I thought.” Tony said with a gulp, “Uhh don’t get mad when I get your jacket wet.”

“Least of my worries,” Bruce mumbled.  Deeming the conversation at an end, he fired up the engine, the loud sound echoing off the water and trees.  He gave the moped a couple of revs, warning Tony that if he didn’t get his arms around him in a hurry, he’d be landing on his ass in the dirt in a matter of milliseconds.

Tony, who had been hesitating up until that point, yelped quietly and wrapped his arms around the other’s torso with a start.  Bruce kicked them off and accelerated down the levee.

The ride was fairly silent, with Tony telling Bruce where to turn from time to time. He’d relaxed a little bit, allowing his dazed head to rest a little on the back of his companion. He would probably have over-thought it, but Bruce hadn’t said anything, and he was warm and Tony was plastered. Big deal. Tony had been throwing an idea around in his head since he’d hopped on the back of the bike, but he wasn’t sure how to go about asking.

“Hey Bruce?” He muttered.

The other teen heard him, but it was made difficult by the volume of the engine and air moving past them both.  He turned his head to shout back.  “Can’t hear you!”

“Oh yeah, right.” He laughed nervously and tilted his head upwards towards Bruce’s ear, trying to speak louder, “I just wanted to say that the invitation, from earlier? It’s still open. Not that I’m trying to show off or anything. It’s just that the house is lo-- uhh, _empty_ , and I’m pretty sure that shit that you don’t like to talk about’ll be easier to avoid there. Unless that counted for talking about it or whatever. I mean it’s a big house, you might not even bump into me if you try hard enough... And uhh... I dunno... could dry your jacket off...” His eyes were fixed on the passing street lights as he rambled on, trailing off at the end of his speech.

Bruce kept his gaze straight ahead on the road, remaining impassive.  It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the offer, but he couldn’t accept it.  If he didn’t go back, who knew how much worse it would make things at home in the morning.  The Stark Mansion came into view and Bruce pulled up to where the gated driveway met the street.  “This it?” he said, not so much looking for clarification, but giving a note of finality this was where they would part.

Tony felt his stomach sink. Already? He sighed and nodded against the other’s back. “Thanks.” He hadn’t made a move to let go or stand up yet, and part of him was kind of dreading the chill of solitary again.

“Sure thing,” Bruce responded.

Tony let out a long sigh. He can’t remember ever growing this dejected in such a short amount of time. And Bruce didn’t seem to be getting it, so if he had to spell it out for the other, he would. He could always blame it on the booze later.

“Look, if there are things keeping you from staying around, then it’s cool, this was fun. In a psychotic, insulting, embarrassing, after-school-special kind of way...” He finished unsure, as he stepped off the bike finally, offering a hand to the other, “As I said before, empty house this weekend... uhh, maybe we could shoot for tomorrow afternoon, skip to the part where we actually have fun?” He was smiling a little more like his confident self now, but his voice was still more hopeful than sure.

Fun.  That was a word that had been erased from his vocabulary a long time ago.  Not that Tony could comprehend that even if he tried to explain it to him.  Bruce shook his head.  “Good luck with your dad; see you Monday.”  He pushed away from the curb and sped off, leaving the other student behind and telling himself the distance was for the best.

“Yeah, yours too!” Tony shouted back to the student, who may have already been out of earshot. He shrugged it off as best as he could and headed inside. He felt slightly put off near the end there, but he was pretty sure for once it wasn’t his fault Bruce had pushed him away. He had said he’d see him Monday, hadn’t he? That’s a big step up from ‘stay the fuck out of my life’, so maybe things weren’t so bad. Still, this weekend was going to suck by himself. Whatever. His feet were getting cold. With a shiver, he reached into the pocket of his soaked jeans for the keys to the front door.  It was time to dry off and get some sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The view was pitch black in every direction, for miles and miles. The only light seemed to be shining upon some vague silhouettes, like halos, barely illuminating their indifferent features. Tony called out, but no noise escaped his throat. He reached out, and what he felt was neither air, nor anything wholly solid. Pulling his hand back, he could see it was coated with a thick, tar-like substance. And then, almost like he’d pierced a hole in reality, the viscous, inky darkness started to flood in. He could feel himself sinking. In panic, he clawed at nothing. He reached out, screaming soundlessly to the uncaring individuals in the distance, even as the weight of the darkness crushed in on him. Why weren’t they coming for him? Couldn’t they see him? It hurt so much. He couldn’t breathe, it was like he was sinking into cement... His chest... it was burning... What was that ringing in his ears?

\--

Tony woke up with a strangled groan and immediately knew something was wrong.  His alarm clock was flashing and blaring out its deafening chime, but he didn’t have the strength to swat it off the nightstand.  His heart was pounding like a jackhammer and the pain was causing the edges of his vision to blur white.  Tumbling out of his bed, he crawled along the floor at a tortured pace, scouring the discarded clothing littering the floor for his mobile phone.  Wait, he broke it on Friday, hadn’t he?  Damn it.  After a short panic, he remembered his bottle of aspirin on the nightstand.  Grabbing onto the bed frame and dragging himself up, he snatched up the open bottle and popped one into his mouth, swallowing it dry.  Taking a few laboured breaths, he pawed at his bracelet until he found the lifeline alarm button, signaling the nearest ambulance to haul ass to his address.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it was Monday morning and he was supposed to be getting up for school. That pain in the ass alarm clock might have just saved his life.

_‘Thank God I didn’t plan on skipping,’_ Tony thought to himself, trying to maintain his breathing as he waited for Emergency Response.

\--

Bruce sat in the waiting room, hunched over and holding his head in his hands as he tried not to shake.  He’d been in that state for the better part of an hour, pretty much since he’d gotten his mother checked in and she’d been wheeled through the doors.  The scene wouldn’t stop playing in his head-- the way Brian had grabbed her arm and twisted... the sickening crack, her shrill cry...  Bruce fisted his fingers into his hair.  He wanted to give the bastard what was coming to him.  He wanted to--

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doors pushing open.  His head snapped up. A familiar face was stomping his way out of the ER, in a pair of pajamas and carrying a handful of paperwork.

Tony stopped mid-stride when he met eyes with Bruce, and for a second it looked like he might turn tail and run.  The fuck was he doing here?  Nobody was supposed to know!  He tried to calm himself, but panic won over and he bolted for the discharge counter.  He still needed to confirm his insurance, and check to make sure he still had no emergency contacts since the time he’d had his old man’s number replaced with one of his old cell phone numbers to keep the bastard out of where Tony was convinced he wasn’t welcome.

For the life of him, Bruce couldn’t figure out why the boy from school was here, especially in his PJs.  Certainly hadn’t been who he was hoping had come through the doors, and he let his head droop once more to stare despondently at the linoleum.  Maybe if he just laid low, Tony would go on his way and leave him be.  But he recognized that was probably too much to hope for.

Seeing Bruce did bring back a few of the more confusing memories from that past Friday, most of which Tony couldn’t hold on to while battling his demonic hangover that following morning.  He did remember feeling safe, and putting at least a small amount of trust in this guy.  Maybe this was his way of reaching out, in some screwed up way.  He had no idea, but he needed to clear this mess up right now and prevent a bigger one from spreading through the student body.

Tony steeled his nerves, and pushed away from the counter, assuring the receptionist that all his information was correct.  Taking another heavy breath he strode cautiously over to where Bruce was sitting, plopping down in a seat facing him.

Called it.  Too much to hope for.  The other teen grimaced and turned his head away.

“How did you find me?  Who told you I was here?” Tony huffed out through his nose in frustration and confusion.  Then he noticed the look of pain and worry still present in Bruce’s eyes.

“You’re not here for me...” Tony voiced his realization out loud, his voice a whisper.  He needed to be wary of the other patients, knowing Bruce’s preference for privacy.

“Shit, man.  Are you okay?”  He went to put his hand on Bruce’s shoulder, but stopped short, hovering, not sure if it’d comfort him or set him off.

Truthfully, Bruce didn’t know how to answer that question.  Nor was he sure he wanted to.  He tried his voice, which was rough and scratchy.  “My mom broke her arm,” he gave the concisest and most general answer he could as to why he was here.

Tony figured there was more to the story than that, but he spared Bruce the knowing look. Something told him that Bruce had already said more than he usually would.

“Ah.  That should be no problem for these guys,” he said, eyes drifting towards the coffee machine.  He probably needed to get going soon, but...

“Well, hope it doesn’t happen again,” he continued, putting a little more weight on that sentence than the others, “Yeah, that sucks.”  He slid in a few quarters, put the paper cup under the dispenser and pressed the button.  Black coffee wasn’t that much of a gift, so he could probably get away with it.

“Drink.” Tony said plainly, leaving no room for dispute, holding out the paper cup of steaming liquid to the other teen.  He owed the guy for not asking him any questions, regardless of his own situation.  For once he was actually glad that the focus was off of him.

Bruce’s eyebrow lifted at the offering in front of his nose, surprised by the generosity.  He lifted his hand to take it.  “‘Kind of pushy’?” he quoted with amusement before putting the edge to his lips and blowing on the surface.

Tony chuckled, “Damn straight.”

Bruce took a slow careful sip of the hot beverage, the steam briefly fogging his lenses.  He hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since he’d woken up earlier that morning, so it was welcome on his throat and stomach.  He lowered his drink, absently running a thumb over the glued ridge on the side of the cup as he fell back into a brooding silence.  He was appreciative that Tony had chosen not to pry.  This wasn’t the first time he’d brought his mom here to the hospital thanks to his father’s handiwork.  Bruce had tried to ignore it, but it was indisputable, this was becoming more and more frequent.  There wasn’t any ‘hoping’, this _would_ happen again.  His hand clenched suddenly, crumpling the insignificant paper cup. The scalding liquid overflowed onto his fist, but he seemed immune to the pain as he stood, throwing it to the ground with an angry yell.  All eyes in the waiting room snapped to him, and that was when the double doors swung open again.

Bruce’s breath caught in his throat, rooted to the spot.  A nurse was wheeling his mother out in a wheelchair (as per regulation), her arm in a sling that wrapped around her shoulder and held her cast.  A few other bandages had been applied to other scrapes and wounds she’d come in with.  “Bruce, honey?” she asked worriedly, having heard his yell.

The teenager dashed forward to come to her side.  It didn’t matter that Tony or anyone else was watching, he just needed to be close to her.  He kneeled down and wrapped his arms around her with a gentleness he only reserved for her, pressing his cheek into her shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut.  “M-mom...” he choked out; he was a tangled mess of emotions-- rage, bitterness, despair.  It took everything he had to keep it in.  It felt like he was five years old again... the very first time he could remember his mother being struck by his father.  He was no less lost and hopeless now as back then.

“I told him the coffee was hot,” Tony muttered nervously, his voice cutting through the air.  He wasn’t sure exactly what he was doing, but he guessed it was probably not a good idea to make the guy’s mother stress any more than she probably was.  He shot Bruce a telling look, before turning to his mom, gesturing to the puddle on the floor, “Dropped it right in his lap.  He needs to stop spacing out like that.”

He shifted from foot to foot nervously for a moment.  The reality of all this was a little too much for him right now.   Who knew what kind of hell Bruce and his mom were dealing with at home, and these people were staring at them like they were some kind of freak show.  He felt sick to his stomach, and he leveled a glare across the entire room, causing more than a few to stop staring, knowing they’d been spotted.  “I... gotta go.  Feel better, Mrs. Banner.”

It was so surreal to see Bruce let all his defenses down at the drop of a hat like that.  In that one moment, he was content to be nothing more than his mother’s son.  All that pain came bubbling up to the surface right in front of him, and Tony didn’t know how to take it in all at once.  It made him think about _his_ mother.  Maybe that’s why his eyes were welling up.  He didn’t mean to break off into a jog, but he just had to get out of there.

The woman gave a soft coo, using her uninjured arm to run her fingers through her son’s curly locks.  “Mommy’s okay now, sweetheart... don’t worry.”  Bruce looked up and she smiled at him wistfully.  “We should go home so you can get to school.”

At long last Bruce turned to look at Tony, as if only now remembering he had been there in the waiting room with them.  But the other teen was no longer anywhere in sight.  It caused him to frown momentarily before dismissing any further thoughts about the other boy.  He gave his mother a tiny nod and stood, holding out his arm to help her out of the wheelchair so they could head out to her car and he could drive her home.

An elderly woman tapped him on the arm.  “I think your friend left this,” she said, extending Tony’s manilla folder of paperwork.

Bruce readjusted his glasses on his nose.  “Oh... um, thanks,” he said awkwardly as he took it, not bothering to correct her mistake about the nature of his and Tony’s relationship.  He’d put it in his backpack and hand it off to him during class when it was convenient.  With that, he took his mother’s hand and wrapped his other arm around her side protectively to keep her steady as they walked out into the parking lot together.

“Bruce?” she spoke up softly.  He lowered his chin enough to peer down at her questioningly.  A smile spread across her lips, “I’m glad to see you’re making friends again.”

The sentiment punched him in the gut.  Bruce forced the feeling down and put on a fake smile with a nod, not having the heart to disappoint her with the truth.

\--

He got back to school right as lunch period was ending.  Bruce ignored the gnawing in his stomach as he dashed across campus to get to his fifth period class, which, coincidentally, he shared with Tony, since English III was a required course for all Juniors, and both of them had been put in the advanced placement session.

He entered and glanced around.  Tony wasn’t there yet, and Bruce had to wonder briefly if the other student hadn’t just taken the whole day off rather than just the morning.  After all, he hadn’t asked Tony why _he’d_ been there at the hospital.  Who knew, it could have been something serious.  Bruce frowned, squeezing at the strap of his backpack.  Then again, the kid had seemed his regular self.

He came in and found his seat, dropping his bag at his feet to pull out his binder, pencils, and assigned book.  His fingers brushed over the treatment folder from the hospital, realizing he could find out for himself why Tony had been there rather easily.  Bruce shook his head and opened up the novel to the page he’d last dog-eared.  It wasn’t any of his business and he had more important things to worry about.

Class went on as usual for the remainder of the period, and Bruce was so deep in his notes, he almost didn’t notice when their teacher, Mr. Cray was called to the door a few minutes before the bell sounded. When he returned to his desk, however, he cleared his throat and called the class to attention,

“One more thing, before you all pack up.”  He gazed around the room.  “Anthony Stark will be absent for a few days.  He’s recovering from a tonsillectomy and if anyone would like to volunteer to drop off his homework and notes, we already have a packet put together in the office.  Please stop by and speak to Principal Cressman.  That’s it.  See you tomorrow.”

A few over-eager students jumped out of their seats and raced toward the door to volunteer, pushing and shoving one another, no doubt lured by the promise of ice cream that Tonsillitis often brought and the fact that they were talking about Tony Stark, richest and most popular boy in school and who wouldn’t want the excuse to hang out with him and a few gallons of ice cream of every flavor imaginable?  Bruce frowned at the file folder still present in his backpack and sighed.

Tonsillectomy.  Riiight.

Grumpily, the teenager stood from his seat and proceeded out of the classroom to the principal’s office.  The other students were still squabbling outside about who should get to take the packet (a couple girls were even pulling one another’s hair).  They didn’t see Bruce as a potential threat, so he easily bypassed them and made his way in.

“Ah, hello, Bruce, how is your mother?” Mr. Cressman asked, having heard from him earlier that morning when he called in.

“Better,” the student didn’t bother to elaborate.  “Mr. Cray said there was a homework packet for... Anthony.  I already have to go to his place after school, so I thought I could take it.”

“Alright, yes, good,” the man nodded, rolling his chair over to grab said packet from the file cabinet.  “Here you are,” he slid it across his desk to Bruce, who calmly picked it up and slid it into his backpack.  He said his goodbyes to the Principal and hurried off to his next class before the other students found out he’d stolen their golden opportunity right out from under their noses and had to punch some teeth in.

Eighth period came and went and Bruce left school, tracing his way back to the Stark mansion.  He shut off his moped, kicking the stand down to lean it against the curb and frowned at the formidable gate before him.  A quick glance around brought him to a buzzer that was positioned below a security camera.  Bruce frowned; he didn’t much care for the situation, but he depressed the button and waited for an answer over the sound system.

Tony sat up in bed at the sound of the buzzer going off.  Normally it would bother him to be called out of bed, but it wasn’t like he was getting much rest anyways.  The drugs from earlier hadn’t completely worn off, but he wasn’t feeling dizzy or lightheaded since before leaving the Emergency Room, so that was a plus.  It would still be a while before he would need to go out and fill those prescriptions.  Overall, he was actually feeling pretty good for someone who had been struggling to breathe no more than twelve hours earlier.

The truth was, what was keeping him up was his own thought processes.  He couldn’t really seem to let go of that anxiety that he felt in the waiting room earlier.  Bruce’s bond he and his mother shared was a reminder of something that he could never hope to have with anyone who was supposed to love him.  It was a reminder that for all the hate that he held for his father, he still hoped beyond hope that they could have had that kind of bond, that his father could have at least _wanted_ that kind of bond.

He slid out of bed, shoving those thoughts aside as best he could.  That buzzer was a welcome distraction.  Someone was outside, probably some shameless ass-kisser with the homework that he had requested for himself under his father’s name.  It was a wonder that the faculty still couldn’t see through his impersonations, though since puberty his voice had grown to be very similar to his father’s.

He made his way to the front door where his end of the intercom was mounted and paused. He didn’t want whoever it was asking questions.

_‘I can’t give ‘em any reason to think I didn’t just get my tonsils out.’_

He swallowed, clearing his throat,

“Who’s there?” his voice echoed out of the intercom, in what would have been a fairly decent impersonation of man calling out sick from work. Unfortunately for his ruse, it didn’t take much common sense to know that a tonsillectomy wasn’t done in the ER.

Bruce felt his eyes roll.  He pushed his talk button and delivered flatly, “Tony, knock off the bullshit and get out here, I have your homework.”  He paused and added, “And your hospital treatment paperwork.”

“Shit.” Tony said out loud, the intercom echoing his statement.  He looked down, realizing his thumb was frozen on the depressed intercom button in shock, “...Fuck.  God dammit Bruce, why didn’t you say it was you?!  I’m not doing this for fun, you ass!”  He could feel his cheeks heating up all the way to his ears.  This guy needed to stop pulling this surprise shit.  Tony didn’t do well with chaos if he wasn’t the one causing it.

Bruce tapped his foot impatiently against the concrete; he had half a mind to leave Tony’s shit on the curb outside.  “Neither am I.  Are you coming out, or what?”

His reply was another buzzer and the sound of the gate unlocking.  “Sorry, come in. I just didn’t think it was gonna be you again is all.”  The intercom cut and Bruce looked up to see the front door of the mansion open.  “I can’t come out!” Tony called out, standing in the now open doorway.  “Doctor’s orders.  And I’d bet my life there’s gonna be a gaggle of students coming by with well-wishes and who knows what else in a few minutes.  I’d rather not be out in the open when they do.”

Bruce was quickly growing irritated.  He leveled a stare over his glasses at the boy standing out on his step, refusing to come out any further.  “Doctor’s orders?  How about I do a little fact-check on that?” he threatened, waving the folder of documents at him from afar; from Tony’s earlier accidental exclamation through the intercom, he knew the other student was hiding something, and he was ready to blow his little lie about his supposed ‘Tonsillectomy’.

Tony felt his stomach drop.  “Bruce, c’mon...”  He looked at the other with pleading eyes, “Don’t read it.”  When he received no response, he felt the panic start to rise in his chest.

“You _can’t_!”  He wanted to run up and snatch the folder from Bruce’s hands, but his legs were frozen in fear.  Blood was pounding in his ears and his palms were starting to sweat.

Bruce shot him a look of ‘Like Hell I can’t, watch me.’  He lifted the outer portion of the folder and glanced down at the page.  He was slightly startled when he saw the ‘Reason for admittance:’ and had to read it a second time in disbelief.  ‘Cardiac Dysrhythmia’, that couldn’t really be...  Bruce looked up towards Tony again, dumbfounded.  “I don’t...” he started over.  “You...”  The teenager was rarely tongue-tied, but this... this really hadn’t been what he’d been expecting.  He thought Tony was bluffing, faking to get out of school, but arrhythmia was a serious medical condition.

This couldn’t be happening.  It wasn’t.  He wasn’t seeing this.  Tony wanted to run away, to go back inside, shut the door and never come out again.  He shuffled backwards, leaning back on his doorframe for support.  He clenched his teeth and took a few deep, shaky breaths, eyes still locked on the person who now stood silent before him.

“I _what_?” Tony spat.

Bruce closed the file folder.  He coughed into a fist and proceed to take his walk of shame up the driveway.  When he got to the front step, he held out Tony’s things with his head down, feeling contrite and not wanting to establish eye contact.  “Sorry,” he said.  “I’ll um... be on my way.”

“Not this time,” Tony said firmly, “You don’t get to run away from this.”

Tony exhaled.  His insides were still in turmoil, but he remembered what his physical therapists had said about deep breathing.  He needed to get his heart rate back down.  Getting angry wasn’t going to help.  He needed to get this weight off his chest.  Literally and otherwise.

He held the front door back.  “Get inside.  I’d rather not explain this to the entire Tony Stark fanclub.”  His eyes were harsh around the edges, and they still weren’t breaking contact with Bruce.  He wasn’t sure if it was a good idea or not to bring the other teen inside at this point, but if he was going to know the truth, then Tony wanted to deliver it personally.  He retreated into the entrance hall.

“Shoes by the coat rack.  Living room’s to the right,” he gestured lamely.  “Sit down wherever.  I’m getting a drink.”  He threw a deadpan look back in Bruce’s direction, “What do you want? OJ?”

“I’m, uh... fine,” Bruce assured, feeling even more awkward than ever.  He hesitated at the entrance before finally setting foot inside.  The teenager removed his worn penny loafers to cautiously position them under the coat rack as instructed.  With a reluctant slowness to his gait, Bruce set the two folders down on the coffee table and sat down in one of the less expensive-looking armchairs to wait for Tony to get back.

When Tony returned he was holding two glasses of what looked like orange juice, “If you don’t drink it, I probably will later.”

“No chocolate milk fountain?” Bruce joked, perhaps uncomfortably.  He held out his hand to take the beverage.

Tony let out a short laugh, handing it to him, “Maybe if you’d spoke up instead of playing polite I would’ve checked.”

“Right,” Bruce kept his responses to a minimum, still uneasy about this whole encounter.  He took a large drink, only to make a face when he swallowed it down.  “Oh God, did you spike this with vodka?” he asked between coughs.

“Takes the edge off,” Tony shrugged, “I think we both could use a little less edge right now.”

Bruce couldn’t disagree with that, so he took another much smaller drink.

“Plus, it makes it harder to taste the Rohypnol,” Tony said offhandedly.

The other student gave him a look, pulling the lip of the glass away from his lips.

Tony snorted, causing his drink to bubble up around his lips, “Relax.  As if a guy like me needs to use roofies,” he reassured the other boastfully.

Despite Tony’s reassurances, Bruce leaned forward and set the screwdriver down on the coffee table.  Anxiously, he began to wring his hands, wondering if Tony was ever going to cough up his story or stall forever.  He wanted to get back home and check on his mom before he had to go off to the JC.

Tony rolled his eyes, snatching Bruce’s glass up, and taking a long sip before setting it back down on the coffee table again, “There.  Now we’re both fucked.”  He paused at his words.  He took a swig of his own drink.   _‘I guess we kind of are.’_ Tony thought with a sigh.

There was a pregnant pause, before Tony finally straightened out in his seat and opened his mouth to speak.

“They can’t determine the cause of it, but they think my arrhythmia is hereditary.  My mom died in the ICU of heart failure when I was six,” Tony inhaled sharply, ”I wanted to see her, but my dad...”  He clenched and unclenched his fists.

“I had my first serious attack when I was eight years old,” he said; Bruce listened solemnly and respectfully, not interrupting.  Tony gestured a hand in the air.  “One minute, you’re playing tag in your best friend’s backyard, next minute you wake up and your chest is stitched up and you’re surrounded by people telling you how lucky you are.  And all you wanna know is what happened, and why you have all those tubes in you, and who all these people are.”

Bruce watched as Tony emptied his glass before he spoke again; the teen blinked away the wetness in his eyes, “At eight years old I learned that I could die like that at any time.  I hadn’t even had my first kiss yet, and I’d been marked for death.”

Tony’s despondent demeanor took Bruce aback.  Suddenly things began to click into place.  The show-off, the trickster, the playboy, the king-of-the-mountain, all of Tony’s attitudes sprung from the fact that his time left on earth was indeterminable.  That all of it at any moment could go up in a poof of smoke and Tony Stark, genius billionaire prodigy would be no more.

Bruce opened his mouth to speak.  “You’ve never told anyone this,” he more stated than asked.

Tony looked down, expression unchanged, “My dad, obviously, and a few doctors and physical therapists I had.  And my girlfriend.  Ex.  She didn’t handle it well, was too afraid she’d break me or something.  Most people treat you different when they find out you’re not like them.”

Bruce knew that one; he looked at the floor and gave a “Yeah.”

“I don’t think I could handle everyone keeping me at a safe distance.  It’s bad enough when your own father does it at the expense of raising you...”

Bruce wet his lips.  “Well, you don’t have to worry; I won’t tell anyone,” he said.  What more _could_ he say?  Sometimes life was shitty; Bruce knew it first-hand.  His life wasn’t peaches and cream, and he never pretended it was.  Maybe that was the difference between he and Tony.

Tony let out a shaky sigh as he let his head drop, “I’m not telling you because I trust you.  Though I guess I kind of have to now...”  He shook his head and waved his hands briefly as if to dismiss what he had just said.  “I mean I do trust you, but I told you because I had to tell you.”

“Fair enough,” Bruce said, rising up from his seat, intending to go.

“And not because you outed me.  I just... I’m not gonna tell you how to handle anything in your own life, but _everyone_ deserves the opportunity to bitch and moan every once in a while. You’d be surprised how much it can help sometimes.”  He gave Bruce a knowing look, “Now I owe you one, fair and square.”

Bruce felt his forehead crinkle with disdain.  “‘Bitching and moaning’ changes _nothing_ ,” he spat at the other teen.  All at once hurt and anger swelled up inside him.  “Not for me.”  He stalked off to snatch up his shoes, knowing if he spent any more time here, he just might end up socking the other student.

Tony sighed.  The mood had shifted instantly.  Bruce was angry with him now, more than likely for a very hypocritical reason, considering the metaphorical nerve Bruce had exposed earlier that had started this whole thing.  Luckily, though, Tony knew how this worked by now.  If he made a big deal about it, it only made it worse.

“Bruce hold up...” Tony called him back, before rushing into his room, the sound of cabinet drawers sliding and folders being moved around before he trotted back, handing Bruce a manilla folder, “Tomorrow’s homework assignments.  You know which teachers these all go to right?”

Bruce scowled and practically ripped the file out of Tony’s hands.  “Yeah.  But you’ll have to find yourself a new errand-boy for tomorrow; lucky for you, you have your fan-club,” he said with contempt.

That was the last straw. Tony knew deep down that his pride had no place in this, but it felt like he had to say something in his defense.  If he didn’t, this was going to keep going on in a circle forever.

“Look, Bruce.  I get that you’re angry.  I even get why.  But really man, what have I ever, _ever_ , purposely done to you for you to lob these bombs at me?  I can understand if you’re attacking my approach, or my manner of speaking, or Hell, even my breath.  But you can’t just keep twisting my words around until they offend you.  I gave you a piece of advice, offered you a listening ear.  Apparently that’s offended you so deeply that you’ve forgotten that advice can be ignored, and just because I’m willing to listen doesn’t mean you have to tell me anything.  If having the option pisses you off that much, I really don’t know what to do about that.  I’m not going to stop offering, because in spite of how much of a stubborn ass you can be, I like you, and I’m not going to treat you like I hate you or I’m afraid of you just because that’s what you’re comfortable with.”  Tony’s chest was heaving.  He got angry, yeah, but he was glad he managed to keep it clean this time around.  Better not to leave that guy with anything to dwell on but himself.

Bruce felt his walls crumbling down around him, chipped away at by Tony’s words.  Anger melded into surprise, surprise into fear as he stood rooted to the spot.  His fingers trembled with pent-up emotion, throat too dry to form a response even if he had one.  He shook his head just barely, finally managing to take a single step backward.  “L-l-leave me a-alone...” he got out, the plea barely audible.  Two more steps back.  “Please just...  I don’t want...” he whimpered.

Tony felt like he’d been punched in the chest.  Sure he’d meant to say everything he had, but he almost didn’t recognize the person in front of him.  Had he done all that?  Why was Bruce in shell-shocked now?  In this state there was no way he wanted this guy to run home, ride his moped or even take a goddamn taxi.  Not until this shit calmed down.

“Bruce.  Bruce, relax.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to hurt you or anything, I just...  Are you--?  What’s wrong?”

Bruce grabbed at his head, pushing down on his ears.  “Nothing’s wrong... nothing,” he repeated, volume growing as he spiralled deeper.  “Nothing!  Nothing!   _Nothing!!_ ” he yelled and bolted out the door.

“Bruce!  What the fuck?!  Wait up!”  He went to chase after him, but stopped mid-stride to grab his car keys off the hook by the door.  He slammed the gate lock button, hoping he had done it quick enough in his panic.

It took Bruce two beats to register what had been done, the wrought iron swinging on its hinges to close.  He pumped his legs harder, but he wasn’t going to make it.  His mind was a blur of panic-- all he knew was that he _had_ to get out, _had_ to get away, nothing else mattered.  He couldn’t even remember what he was running _from_ anymore.

Tony shot like a bullet out the front door, eyes scanning wildly until he spotted Bruce running headlong for the gate.  He was panicked, and Tony knew at that moment that caging this guy in at his most paranoid may have been just as well as Tony signing his own death certificate.  Something was seriously wrong.  But even if he’d have to take the hit, he wasn’t going to let Bruce out in this state.  Somehow, this was his fault.  He’d triggered this.  God, what the hell had he done?

The gate made a resounding noise as it slammed itself shut.  Despite the metal barrier now in front of him, Bruce leapt at it, feet catching momentary purchase on the vertical steel beams.  It was enough to vault him high enough to grab the top of the gate with his hands, beginning to scramble up it.

“Bruce!  Oh God what the hell is going on here?!” he babbled, looking side to side for any idea of what to do.

Finally, he came to a decision.  While it wasn’t the wisest of choices, it was the first coherent one that came to his panicked mind, and he ran with it.  Worst case scenario, he could chase after Bruce on foot, potentially lose him.  Best case scenario?  Well, the gate wasn’t _that_ high.

_‘He’ll be fine.  He’ll be fine...’_ Tony reassured himself, hitting the open gate button on his key fob, toggling it back and forth as he ran, hoping it would shake Bruce’s grip and slow his climb down at least.  His heart was pounding, but he tried to ignore it for the moment, focusing on one goal, vaulting onto that gate with all his strength.  He was closing in, and with a leap and a prayer he pushed off the ground and extended his arms, the force of his impact shaking the gate a little.  By a stroke of luck he’d managed to latch on to one of Bruce’s legs, though closer to the ankle.  He grit his teeth and held on like his life depended on it, only realizing now how much more strength it would take to climb.

Bruce’s head snapped downward as soon as he felt the fingers encircle his ankle in a death-grip.  He saw Tony, but his face didn’t register.  In his place, Bruce saw the face of his father.  The teenager cried out, fingers almost slipping from the bar, but he held fast, maneuvering to give his pursuant a sharp kick to the head.

Tony didn’t hold on for long after that kick.  Falling to the ground he toggled the button on the key fob a few times, trying one last time to shake Bruce off.  He needed to ignore the pain now throbbing in his jaw and figure out what to do.  Then he had it.  Stopping the gate half open, he stood on the inside of the fence, alert and waiting for Bruce to clear the top.  As soon as the other teen let himself fall, Tony reached out through the bars and grabbed Bruce mid-leap by his ankles, which had the effect of pivoting in him mid-air.

Bruce’s palms and forearms slapped the concrete, glasses falling off his face and skittering a fair distance.  Stunned by the hard landing, it took him a moment to scramble to his feet, and by the time he was up, Tony had dashed in front of him, hunkered down and arms out like he was out on the basketball court, blocking the path to his moped.

Bruce made a dash for it anyway.  Tony’s arms wrapped about his midsection, hindering him, but his vision was darkening around the edges, the world collapsing in on itself.  He flailed his arms and battled perhaps three steps before blacking out, slumping into Tony’s arms.

“ _Shit_ ,” Tony swore, panting as he checked Bruce for signs of life.  A quick pulse check told him that Bruce was definitely unconscious.  Good.  He could breathe now.

Setting the other’s limp body down for just a moment, he went in search of the boy’s jettisoned glasses.  Upon finding them miraculously in one piece and fairly free of any scuffs that weren’t pre-existing, he hooked them into the collar of his tee shirt and went back to Bruce’s now peaceful form.  With more than a little effort he managed to heft the deceivingly heavy form onto his back, looping the other’s arms around his neck like a backpack.

_‘A stubborn, homicidal, defeatist, heavy-ass backpack,’_ Tony amended.  He stood up after two failed attempts, pressing the portable gate button one last time to close it.  Then he carried his friend inside and into a guest bedroom.  He felt like his back was going to give out, so he sat Bruce on the floor as safely as he could.  He needed to get some rest himself, but he knew Bruce’s mom would worry.  He didn’t know the Banners’ phone number, and he didn’t dare search the body in front of him for it.  With a sigh he pulled the smartphone out of his left pocket, glad to see the screen hadn’t cracked in the scuffle.  It was a good thing his pet project had graduated the beta stages over last summer vacation.

“JARVIS.  I need a list of all females with the surname Banner in a twenty-five mile radius.  That’s B-A-N-N-E-R.”

The list popped up on-screen, which was quite short.  “Will that be all, Young Master Stark?” the AI queried.

“Can you narrow that down to all listings with children ages fourteen to nineteen?”

“I surmise this is the entry you are searching for?”  All of the entries vanished, save for one Rebecca Banner, married to Dr. Brian Banner, whose son David Banner was shown in the Junior College records.  Tony quirked his eyebrow.

_‘David? Hm...’_  The family’s home address, landline, and a few other scant pieces of information followed.

Tony swallowed.  What if Bruce’s dad picked up?  There was no mobile number under either of their names, and it was a big risk that could make everything worse. He steeled his nerves.

“JARVIS.  Dial home number for Dr. Brian and Rebecca Banner.  Prefix with star-six-seven.  That’ll be all for now.”  The AI went silent and dialed.

Rebecca heard the phone ring from the living room and she walked over to take the corded receiver off the hook and bring it to her ear.  “Hello?”

Tony gave a sigh of relief on the other end of the line, “Is this Mrs. Banner?” he asked, more out of habit than curiosity.  He _had_ pretty much done a full lookup on her already.

The young voice on the other end of the line made the woman tip her head curiously.  “Yes, who is this?”

“Oh, I’m sorry!  This is Tony.  Tony Stark.  I’m in classes with Bruce.  Is my number not popping up again?” Tony responded, trying to sound as sincere as possible.

The mother’s lips pursed with slight worry (as mothers were prone to do).  Rarely ever were phone calls in regard to her son... good.  Though it had been years since a fellow student had called the house... not since elementary school, when little Betty Ross would call asking for permission for Bruce to come over and play; regardless she remembered it like yesterday.  Tony Stark... the dots connected, yes, she recalled seeing him that morning in the hospital.  “What can I do for you, Tony?”

“I was just gonna let you know that Bruce is spending the night here.  He stopped by here earlier to drop off my homework and go over notes together.”  Tony grimaced, hoping she didn’t ask about why he wasn’t in school.  “He was gonna leave for JC or something, but he seemed really tired so I convinced him to crash here for the night.  I’m sure he would’ve called you, but he’s out like a light right now.”

“Oh my,” she spoke, “well, he did have a stressful morning... poor dear.”  A small smile spread over her features.  “He works so hard and expects so much of himself.  Just like his father...” there was mixed admiration and sorrow in her words.  She paused then, realizing she was ruminating.  “Forgive me, I’m prattling on; it’s a mom-thing.”

Tony’s jaw clenched involuntarily.  That bastard was probably the reason he worked so hard in the first place, “No, no, it’s fine.  Bruce doesn’t really talk much about it, so I was kind of surprised.  He probably just needs a good long sleep,” he looked over to his unconscious friend on the floor and forced a chuckle into the phone, “He was so out I barely got your number out of him.”  He paused for a second, before adding, “I hope he’s not in trouble or anything.  He’s probably not making it to JC tonight.”

The woman smiled softly against the ear-piece.  “I’m sure one absence won’t hurt his record.  It’s very sweet of you to have him over.”  She thought a moment and then added, “I’m surprised too, it’s been a very long time since Bruce has had any friends.”  Though she didn’t explicitly say it, the sentiment conveyed her gratitude that the young man she was speaking to had reached out to her son.

Tony sighed, “He’s a cool guy, Mrs. Banner.  Just not big on letting his walls down.  I don’t judge him for... well you know how he is.  No offense.”

Her eyes shut a moment at the truth of that statement.  “None taken.  Thank you for calling, Tony.”

“Thanks for understanding.  I’ll give you my number here.  Call if you need anything.”

After a quick exchange of numbers, Rebecca thanked Tony once again and hung up.

Tony exhaled with relief, crouching down by Bruce once again, “Probably don’t have to tell you, but you’re really lucky, big guy.”  He noticed the slow rising and falling of his chest, “Plus, you get to sleep while I do all of the work here, fucker,” he pouted, more for himself than the young man laying before him.  With another bout of back-breaking effort, he hoisted him into one of the armchairs.

He figured he ought to check the guy for injuries.  “Okay, buddy, time to get that jacket off.”  With a fair amount of difficulty, Tony managed to hold up Bruce’s torso long enough to slide his jacket off.

He examined the other’s forearms, finding nothing too worrisome aside from a few scratches here and there from the fall.  The palms of his hands were pretty raw, but it was mostly scratches and no big cuts that he could see.  He checked Bruce’s head and neck a little more closely in the indoor lighting, and for a second time, nothing raised any alarms.  His head, neck, and forearms were what Tony was most worried about, so he was fairly certain the big guy would be alright now.  He decided it’d be best if he left Bruce’s jacket off, hanging it on the hook on the inner side of the bedroom door.

“While I’m at it I’d better prep you for bed, man,” he said out loud as he walked around to the foot of the bed, slipping off one of Bruce’s penny loafers.

“I should go burn these,” Tony chuckled, shaking his head.  “Ever heard of sneakers?”

Bruce only responded with a twitch and snore.

Upon removing the other loafer, he noticed his ring finger had a smear of blood on it.  Curious, he rolled up that pant leg and pulled the sock off.  The was a shallow cut on Bruce’s ankle, no doubt from one of Tony’s nails when he tried to trip him up earlier.  It was already dry, thank God.  He didn’t need bloodstains on the sheets when he transferred him over there.  He checked the other ankle more thoroughly a second time, and put the socks in the loafers, dropping them by the foot of the bed.

“I think that’s comfy enough.  Hope you don’t have anything sharp in your pockets though.”  He thought for a second.  No.  Bruce could live with a pocket full of pointy things.  Tony needed to get him in bed and then worry about what to do next.

“Last time, Bruce.  I promise,” Tony said with a resigned sigh, lifting the other student up one last time, and dumping him as gingerly as he could onto the bed, which was just soft enough not to wake him up.  He stirred a bit though, fingers gripping at Tony’s shoulders before slipping away with the tiniest whine.  Tony was caught off guard, not expecting the small movement, and stood up and back as if he were just caught doing something he shouldn’t be.  He shook it off after a beat, stalking around the side of the bed and sitting down with a huff on the empty side.  He rubbed at his eyes, his exhaustion catching up with him.

“Okay, man, it’s been fun,” he sighed, leaning over to pat Bruce’s sleeping form on the arm,  “But I’m getting the fuck to bed,” he said, and was about to slide off the bed again.  He hesitated, noticing Bruce seemed to be mouthing something incoherently as he tossed a bit.  He couldn’t read the words, but they weren’t completely silent either.

“What’s wrong? Do you need something?”

The words managed to penetrate into Bruce’s subconsciousness.  On bad nights, Bruce could remember his mom coming into his bedroom... the way she held him, wiped away the tears streaming down his cheeks... the feel of her soft fingers as she threaded them through his short messy hair... how she rocked him back and forth until he finally fell asleep in her arms.  In his state of deliriousness, he couldn’t tell Tony from the woman he loved, and after the emotional distress he had just been put through, he longed for the same comfort she had once given him as a small child.  The boy reached up to grab the hand resting on his arm, clutching to it desperately in his sleep.  “...Don’t go...” he murmured imploringly, eyes still shut.

Tony froze, another shiver running through his entire body.  He tried to pull his arm away slowly, but Bruce’s grip on his hand got stronger when he pulled away, and he started to whimper again.  What could he do?

“Thirty minutes.  That’s it, otherwise you’re gonna kill me when you wake up.”  Tony sounded like a defeated parent negotiating bed time, as he slipped off his house shoes and socks hesitantly and sat up closer to Bruce in the bed, pulling his legs up.  This was probably a really, really bad idea.

Bruce sensed Tony’s nearness.  Without a second’s hesitation, he rolled over to slide his arms around the warm form now beside him, squeezing protectively tight.  His head settled in the crook of Tony’s shoulder, breathing out a deep sigh of relief.

Tony’s heart stopped in his chest for a full ten seconds.

“Very funny, big guy, now let me go.”  He made to squirm out, but Bruce had leaned his weight fully against him and his fingers clung to his midsection like a vice.

Okay, yes; this _was_ a really bad idea.  Alarm bells, fire alarms and air raid sirens were going off in his head and his heart was pounding a mile a minute.

_‘Oh my fucking shit... this is how I’m going to die.  The front page of Wednesday’s paper is gonna say ‘Heir to Stark Incorporated found dead of heart attack in arms of secret lover.  When questioned on the scene, primary suspect attacked and wounded six police officers after insulting them for no reason’.  Fuck.  My.  Life.’_

He needed to get out of there, but Bruce wouldn’t let go, and even the slightest of struggles caused the other teen to reel him in closer, until their bodies were practically flush with each other.

Swallowing, Tony tried to think of a way out of this.  He took slow deep breaths, trying to slow his heart rate back down.  It was working, but now he was hyper aware of Bruce’s warm breath on the back of his ear, and the arms wrapped snugly around him.  He wished he could be bothered, but he could count the times he’d been this close to someone on one hand, and it felt... well, it felt nice.  As strange as that should be.

This type of closeness filled the empty spaces he seemed to have whenever he wasn’t busying himself.  It made him feel cared for, made him feel safe.  God, the last time he could remember being held like this, it was before things had gone south with Pepper.  Their fallout was a painful one.

When he’d finally told her about his condition, her behavior around him deteriorated slowly until she was doing nothing but worrying over him and his heart.  She had no life of her own by then, and they no longer had that passion for each other that used to keep them interested.  All they had by the end was intimacy and denial.  And he had forgotten how much he had missed the former.

He felt his eyelids start to get heavy, as he settled into the other’s embrace.  Fuck it, he could take a punch to the jaw for this if he had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Co-authored with Chevy.


	3. Chapter 3

It was several hours before Bruce began to come to.  The sun had already set, leaving the guestroom obscured by darkness.  He blinked his eyes open, but even without his sense of sight, he could tell he was somewhere he didn’t belong-- the bed was too soft and large, the smell was off...  He sat up and groped for the nearest edge of the bed.  Following the dim light from under the door that spread out across the carpet, he found the wall switch, flicking it on.

Tony’s house.

Bruce lifted his hands to rub aggressively at his temples.  He had never quite managed to leave, had he?  He racked his brain, trying to recall numbly... the last thing he remembered with any clarity was telling the other teen he was through bringing him his homework... after that, his memory lapsed, it all faded into obscurity.

He squeezed at the bridge of his nose with two fingers.  These psychotic episodes were getting worse.

Well, he was in control now, he thought firmly.  Bruce scanned the room, first locating his glasses, which had been folded up and placed neatly on the nightstand.  After he’d returned them to their rightful place on his face, he was able to find his shoes at the foot of the bed and his jacket on a hook by the door.  Tony... Tony must have done these things to make him more comfortable, he realized, a little stupefied.

He never would have attributed such kindness and consideration to the other teen.

Biting his lower lip between his teeth, Bruce opened the guestroom door gingerly so the hinges wouldn’t squeak.  He pushed his head out and glanced from side to side, listening for anything that might betray the other student was around.  Sensing nothing, he carefully stole out of the room and down the hall.

His eyes caught on the front door, and he knew then that he could sneak out of here without Tony ever being the wiser.  But deep down he knew it wasn’t the right course of action.

With a sigh, Bruce turned away from it and began searching the rest of the mansion.  It was big, but it wasn’t un-navigable.  At last he found the other teen’s room-- Bruce guessed he was probably resting to recover from his Dysrhythmia attack.  The door wasn’t all the way closed, partially cracked; Bruce tapped his knuckles against the wood gently in hopes of rousing Tony.

No response.

Frowning, he pushed the door open just enough to see inside, and was a little confused to find he wasn’t there at all.  The teenager rubbed at his arm nervously and began to call out, “Tony?  Tony?” his voice echoing through the large house as he wandered the halls.  He dropped his hands to his sides.  Maybe this was more trouble than it was worth... maybe he should just go.

The sound of a toilet flushing and water running from somewhere in the direction of where he’d woken up clued him in to the other student’s whereabouts.  His brow drew down; he moved towards it.

A door on the far end of the room swung open, and out shuffled Tony, in an almost zombie-esque fashion.

“Wow...” Tony slurred out drowsily, noticing Bruce awake and in front of him, “I get up to take a piss and alluvasudden you can’t sleep.”

Tony slid back into the bed.  The same bed Bruce had woken up in.

“I... um... sorry?” Bruce wasn’t sure if he was supposed to apologize.

Tony snorted, making an overly large gesture with his arm.  “For what?”

Bruce’s lip quirked into a partial frown.  “Nevermind.  Are you, uh... on meds for, you know?”  It was a rude question, but the kid was acting loopier than usual, which was saying something.  Probably shouldn’t have mixed alcohol with his medication.

Tony chortled, “Oh shit, yeah.  S’not mornin’ already, is it?”

“It’s dark outside,” the teenager pointed out flatly.  He glanced at the watch on his wrist.  Nine-thirty.  Damn it, he’d missed _both_ of his classes.  He exhaled a frustrated sigh through his nostrils.

“I get my meds in the mornin’... no worries.  Go back to bed.”

Bruce wet his lips.  “I don’t intend to stay, I just...” he clenched his jaw.  Why was this so hard to say?  To just say ‘thanks’ and move on?  He started over.  “Listen, I don’t know exactly... what happened, okay?”  The young man wrung the back of his neck with his fingers.  “But... while I appreciate...” he motioned at the bedroom, “your hospitality, none of this really ought to be your problem.”  Bruce’s eyes fell to the floor.

“I already told your mom you were gonna sleep over...” Tony slurred, “And you’re my friend, not my problem, stupid.”

“Right,” Bruce vocalized.  In Tony’s current condition he didn’t know if he should believe a single word out of his mouth.  When would he have talked to his mother?  He hooked his thumb at the door and took a step backwards towards it.  “I’m going to go.  I have a lot to catch up on.”

“She said you were working too hard... I didn’t want her to worry...” Tony’s eyes were just slits by now, sleep was trying to claim him again.

That sounded like something she’d say.  Bruce’s jaw set.  “What does she know anyway?” he grumbled, hugging his arms defensively.

“Hmm...” Tony’s eyebrows scrunched up, “Fuuuck... I can’t remember.”  He leaned over and tapped the screen of the smartphone sitting on the nightstand.  “JARVIS, replay last phone call, on speakerphone.”  He groaned, flopping back on the bed and fluffing his pillow.

Bruce felt his hackles raise instantly at the threat of hearing the phone call.  He quickly came forward to nab the device and cancel the command.  “Whatever you said to one another, I don’t want to know,” he stated.  The less he knew, the better.  He didn’t want it weighing on his conscience; it would only plague him.

“I’m not stupid.  I said you were too tired to drive.  She doesn’t know what happened.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes at him, crossing his arms.  “And what exactly happened?”

Tony was starting to sober up from his sleepy state, thinking.  His eyes went downcast.  “I yelled back... you got scared or something and ran away.  Tried to vault over the gate...”  Tony paused.

“Was that... because of me?”

Bruce glanced to the side.  This was becoming... well, a situation he’d rather not be in.  He either had to refuse to answer or lay his cards on the table.  Neither of them were options he wanted to pick.  “Yes and no.”  He was slow to admit more.  “I have this thing... when I feel threatened or angry, I just kind of... lose it.”  He looked back up to Tony.

Tony thought about it for a second, “That explains some things...” he sighed out.  “Guess I get the whole xenophobia thing now.”

Bruce shook his head, frustrated.  “It’s not xenophobia,” he tried to dispel the misconception.  “It’s not _people_ I fear.”  He chewed the inside of his mouth, realizing that by saying that, he had admitted there _were_ things he feared.

“You know what I’m afraid of?” Tony asked.

The teenager frowned.  “What?” he indulged the other student.

“I’m afraid I might have already lost my only potential friend because he’s chosen to write himself off before even giving me a chance.”

Bruce let out a soft sigh, seeing what Tony was driving at.  “It’s different for you,” he tried to explain as calmly as possible.  “Just don’t tell anyone about your condition; they’ll be your friend, they’re all clamoring to be your friends, you could make a dozen tomorrow if you wanted.”

Tony clenched his fists.  Between how exhausted he was, and how unreasonable Bruce was being, and how tired he was of this game in general, he was damned furious that it was coming back to Bruce trying to dismiss him again.  “Bruce, most of the time I talk _at_ people, not _to_ people.  Do you know why?  Because nine out of ten either don’t understand, or just aren’t interested in what I have to say.  They just want to hang out with the rich kid.  That’s idol worship, not friendship.”

He couldn’t let this go on.  Bruce didn’t know when Tony had made the decision that they were ‘friends’ without his approval, but somewhere along the line he had.  He squared his shoulders, emphasizing the distance currently standing between them.  “Neither is this.”

“And how would you even know?” Tony snapped back.  “It must be something _foreign_ to you, because you’ve done everything you can to derail or overturn it.  You’re the most stubborn ass I’ve ever met.  I want to punch the stupid out of your fucking head sometimes, but at least you can hold a conversation without asking me how many cars I own or whether I could take you for a ride on my yacht.”

Tony was seeing red now; he was sick of getting pushed away.  “You come up with all these excuses, but I think your biggest hang-up is you.”  Tony narrowed his eyes, “And I’m sick of you pretending to worry about making everyone else miserable, when you’re really just too chickenshit to leave your comfort zone!  Come off it!  You’re not considerate, you’re just a selfish coward who tries to be nice about it!”

Tony’s aggressive ranting didn’t surprise him; rejection was like that.  It hurt to be told you couldn’t have what you wanted, but eventually in time, you accepted it.  Bruce looked the other teen right in the eyes with unwavering conviction.  “Goodbye, Tony.”  With those final two words, he turned and left the room.

“So off of my back and right back onto hers then?” Tony shot the words at the other’s retreating back like a bullet.

The words bit deep but Bruce stayed on track, vision narrowed in front of him as he strode in the direction of the front door, trying to block out the words ringing in his ears.

“You hate me so much?  Come on.  Hit me,” Tony’s eyes were wild and dark, as he stalked after the other teen.  “You’ve been holding back since you met me!  Nothing kept you from spooning me while you were passed out; you should be able to hit me easy!”  Tony’s eyes went wide realizing what he just said, but he didn’t back down.  “Do it, you fucker!”

Things were starting to swirl, Tony’s rising voice and demands snapping the fragile strands keeping a hold on his rage.  He could hear his dad... bellowing, foaming at the mouth... the sound of shattering glass as a bottle was thrown to the floor... Bruce’s gait wavered.

Tony’s eyes started to water a little.  When had things gotten this complicated?  Why did they have to be?  His jaw was clenched so hard it was shaking.  He was sticking his head into the lion’s mouth, and he couldn’t care less right now.

“You _f-fucker!!_ ” he screamed at Bruce’s back.

The last strand snapped.  Bruce wheeled around with a yell, fist curled.  His knuckles slammed into Tony’s cheekbone, dropping him where he stood.  But when he hit the ground, Bruce didn’t stop.  He straddled his torso and brought back his fist again to clobber the other teen across the face a second time.  Tremors coursed through his whole being as he pummelled away; a third and fourth followed before the boy let out a wretched sob of anguish.

Tony’s face was already swelling in the places he’d been struck, his lip split open and freshly seeping down his chin.  Bruce collapsed down on top of him, squeezing him for dear life as ugly tears poured from his eyes, wracked with the guilt of what he had just done.

Tony coughed, spitting a little blood out of his mouth.  The big guy really could throw a punch, but in spite of the physical pain he was feeling now, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat relieved that Bruce had turned to face him instead of running away again.  He wondered what the cost was, though, as Bruce lay sobbing on top of him.

_‘He really didn’t want to...’_ Tony thought in bittersweet realization, _‘Now he’s probably gonna hate himself for giving in to his anger.’_

Tony felt his eyes start to tear again, overcome by the emotion of the situation, “Big Guy... hey... listen,” he tried putting his fingers through Bruce’s hair like he’d noticed his mom doing back at the ER waiting room.  It seemed to work a little, so he massaged the other’s scalp gently, pulling Bruce’s head into his chest and cradling it there.

In the back of his mind Tony knew this wasn’t normal, but he reasoned that neither were the two of them, “You’re not your dad, Big Guy.  You’re nothing like him.  Don’t be so hard on yourself.”  He hugged Bruce tightly to his chest.

It took awhile for Bruce to respond, battling to find his voice amidst his wails.  “I’m everything like him...  I h-hurt and maim people who c-care about me...”  His fingers fisted into Tony’s shirt, “y-you... you shouldn’t...”  He had no idea _why_ the other teen felt _anything_ but hatred towards him... especially after laying into him so many times, mostly verbally but now physically too.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Tony coughed out a laugh, “You’re gonna have to do a lot worse than that.”  Tony paused for a moment, before gasping out a fake epiphany, “Oh.  Like, you could have just walked off and left me here to be mad at you.  That probably would have made things a lot worse.”

Bruce shook his head, the other boy’s cavalier attitude towards what had just transpired.  His wits were gradually returning, not able to stay upset when Tony didn’t seem to be in the slightest.  After composing himself with a few more deep breaths, he stood and offered the other teen a hand up.

Tony took the hand, wincing as he was lifted, “You’re pretty stupid for a genius, you know?  I think I’m gonna put your number in my contacts under ‘Oxy Moron’.  When I get your number anyways.  What _is_ your number?”

“Um...” Bruce chewed the inside of his lip.  “Let’s worry about getting you cleaned up first,” he suggested, putting his hand on Tony’s arm and guiding him towards the kitchen.  He pulled out one of the bar stools for him to take a seat on while he went in search of a rag.  “Where do you keep your washcloths?” he asked, trying a promising drawer.

“One more to your left.”  Tony winced, “Hey man, not to make you feel bad or anything, but you could have picked somewhere other than the face at least once.”

Bruce moved to the appropriate drawer, clearing his throat.  “Sorry,” he said, pulling two of the cloths out.

“Ehh it’s fine, I uhh... kinda bullied you into it.” Tony dismissed, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

Bruce didn’t say anything to that, taking one of the rags over to the sink to dampen and ring it out.  These motions were a little too practiced from the times he had done similar for his mom; he came back over to Tony and carefully began mopping up the drying blood on his chin.  At least he had missed the guy’s nose.

Tony was finding it very tough to keep eye contact at this proximity.  He averted his gaze slightly, feeling his cheeks heat up.  “Listen, uhh, about what I said back there...” Tony started hesitantly.

_‘God, what about it?  Not like I can take it back.  The Hell was I thinking?’_

“What?” Bruce prompted, but not before placing one end of the washcloth to the split in Tony’s lip and applying pressure to stem the bleeding (and intentionally shut the boy up).

In his nervousness, he blurted out his answer into the washcloth, which made it completely unintelligible to Bruce’s ears.

The teenager lifted an eyebrow at him, amused by Tony’s attempt despite the obstruction.  He took Tony’s hand so as to make him hold the washcloth there himself.  “Hold still,” he instructed, grabbing the second cloth and going over to the refrigerator.

Having no way to speak, Tony simply exhaled through his nose impatiently, hoping he stopped bleeding soon.  It was awkward not being able to speak.

After collecting some ice cubes in the center of the cloth, Bruce folded it up into a makeshift ice pack and brought it over.  A quick observation revealed the swelling was the worst on Tony’s left cheekbone, just under his eye which might have been bruising too.  He gingerly applied the ice, cupping the other teen’s cranium with the other hand as counter-balance.  A long moment passed before he noticed Tony was staring up at him, brown eyes wide and almost pleading, not unlike an injured puppy that just wanted to know everything was going to be okay now.

Bruce cleared his throat again.  “Does this feel any better?” he asked, adjusting the ice pack somewhat to cover more surface area on Tony’s face.

Tony mumbled an affirmative into the washcloth.  It was amazing to him for a guy that could be that abrasive and brutish to have such a gentleness to his touch.  He almost hadn’t noticed Bruce had asked him anything.

Bruce had Tony switch his grip to the ice pack.  “How’s this doing?” he asked then, pulling the washcloth away from Tony’s face to check on it.  He leaned in, quickly pushing his spectacles higher on his nose, and hmm’d softly, letting his thumb settle in the divot under Tony’s lower lip, brushing it ever so slightly.

Tony froze in place, lips slightly parted.  He held his breath and fought back the nervous urge to bite his lip, knowing that would at the very least earn him a scolding.

“The bleeding’s stopped, and I don’t think you need any stitches,” Bruce made his assessment as he stood up straight once again.  He took the bloody cloth back to the sink to rinse it out under the faucet.

Tony was confused.  How was this guy not phased by these kind of interactions??  It wasn’t exactly that Tony was bothered, but he really didn’t know exactly how he felt about it.  Bruce though, didn’t seem to notice Tony’s awkwardness, nor did he appear to be bothered by these kinds of situations.  It was like the guy wasn’t aware of himself somehow.

“When’s the last time you got laid?” Tony raised his eyebrow.  He knew that was pushing the envelope, but his curiosity got the better of him, and he couldn’t really take the question back now, could he?

Had Tony just asked what Bruce thought he had?  The teenager glanced back at him momentarily before turning back to shut off the sink.  “I’m not quite sure why you’re asking,” he said.

“That long, huh?” Tony’s facial expression was somewhere between sly and sympathetic.

Bruce gave an amused snort.  “Sure,” he agreed non-committally, hanging the rag on a nearby rack.  This wasn’t something he typically talked about.

“You’re not a virgin are you?” Tony asked, wide-eyed.  He was pushing the envelope again.  He decided to soften the blow a little, “Nothing wrong with that if you are.  You’d probably look good in white.”

Bruce just shook his head again.  He came over to sit on the stool adjacent to Tony.  “First you tell me I should bitch and moan more, now you’re telling me I need to get laid.”

“Well first off,” Tony gestured numerically with one hand as he spoke, pulling up a chair at the kitchen table with the other, “I want to commend you on actually remembering my advice, and secondly it would explain your mood swings.  Imagine having blue balls for five years.  God, I don’t want to.”  He shuddered, sitting down.

Bruce looked at him over the ridge of his glasses condescendingly.  “Not all of us are driven singularly by the obsessive need to procreate.  Or to put it in your terms ‘stick their dick in something’.”

“I never said you should be singularly driven by it,” Tony held his index finger up, still holding the ice pack against his face with the other hand, “But really, Bruce.  You have to have some level of interest.  It’s called healthy curiosity, man.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said dismissively.

“‘I’ll keep that in mind’?  Bruce, buddy, you’re scaring me.  You make it sound like you’re not interested at all.”

“Well, I’m not interested in talking about it,” the teen shot him a look of impatience.

“I’m only curious, but _fine_ ; I’ll keep it PG,” Tony surrendered, rolling his eyes, “What’s your type?” 

_‘Probably the type that knows when to shut up,’_ he thought.  Bruce pushed his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose with a sigh.  He stood from his seat to get a glass of water.

“I have a bias for redheads, and strawberry blondes myself.  Freckles can be pretty as long as they’re not, like, ninety percent of the face, ...aaand you’re ignoring me, aren’t you?”

Well, at least he knew Tony wasn’t feeling too bad after eating four knuckle sandwiches.  Bruce lowered his gaze into the cup as he leaned against the counter.  “Not entirely,” he murmured before taking a drink.

“Seriously though, how do you relieve stress?  I mean, besides kicking ass and beating off?”

The teenager set his glass down on the counter.  He shrugged.  “A good book?  A hot cup of tea?”

“A Dove chocolate bar and a bubble bath?  Jesus, when the hell did you hit menopause?” Tony snorted, teasing, “You see, this is why you need friends, if we’d hung out more I would’ve been able to intervene before this became a real problem.”

Bruce looked at the ground, Tony’s use of the word ‘friends’ reminding him of exactly what his mother had said to him that morning coming out of the hospital.  “Yeah.  I should really get back, make sure my mom is doing okay,” he said, moving away from the counter.  His lips drew into a tight line before grabbing a nearby pen and stack of post-its.  He scribbled quickly and extended it to Tony.  “Here’s my number.  You can... call me.  Or whatever.”

Tony couldn’t help the huge grin spreading across his face.  Smiling that big hurt his face, but he kept doing it anyways; he probably resembled the cheshire cat, at least in his own head.  “Thanks, I’ll try not to... ‘whatever’... you unless it’s important.”  He stifled a little laughter.  “But Bruce?”

“Hm?”

“I’m really not trying to keep you from leaving this time, but uhh... I told your mom you were spending the night.  Wouldn’t she think it’s weird that you left a sleepover at...”  He stopped to check the time on his phone, “Quarter past it’s-barely-even-dark-out?” 

The teen shook his head.  “Dad’ll be home.  I want to make sure she’s okay.”  He kept his explanation to that, expecting Tony to pick up on the rest of what he’d left unsaid.  It looked like he did, his eyes going steely.

“Got’cha.  Well hey, it’s been fun... mostly.  Though maybe next time I can dust off the old Stratego, or Battleship.  You know, work out our differences while endangering thousands of innocent lives and keeping our hands clean, like _true_ geniuses.”

Bruce dropped his chin with a little laugh.  “Yeah, okay.”  There was a pause.  “Take care of yourself.”  He moved for the front door, pausing in the threshold, remembering something then.  “Oh, where did your homework end up?”

“Shoot.  Wait right here.” Tony responded, eyes wide in realization, setting down the ice pack, “That reminds me.  Got something else for you too.”

Tony ran back to his bedroom, returning about thirty seconds after with the folder Bruce had dropped before, along with a manilla envelope.

“Thanks in advance, big guy,” Tony said, handing Bruce the folder.  “And this,” he continued, handing him the manilla envelope, “It’s some stuff off my recommended reading list.  They’re all collectible editions, so be careful.  But I have them on my kindle, so take your time with ‘em.”  He patted Bruce on the shoulder and gave him a wink.  “And hey, you take care of yourself too.”

Bruce lifted an eyebrow as he flipped perfunctorily through the myriad of colorful comic books.  “Sometimes I wonder if you’re not twelve instead of seventeen.”  He slid both folders under his arm.

“Who’s counting?” Tony shrugged.

Bruce chuckled.  “Catch you later.”  He stepped out onto the porch, but as he was shutting the door behind himself he saw Tony pull his blood-stained shirt off inside-out over his head.  He only caught a glimpse of the prominent scar on his chest before Tony had turned to the side and was heading back towards his room.  The teenager hummed.  Though Tony had told him about the operation, it hadn’t really sunk in until now how invasive the whole procedure must have been...  He’d read books detailing cardiac surgeries.  He could envision an unconscious young Tony sprawled out on an operating table, ribs held open by huge metal retractor while tubes pumped blood in and out of him.  Bruce shook his head to clear his thoughts and pulled the door closed.  He exited through the gate, securing the folders in a pouch before getting on his moped and heading out.

About halfway back he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket-- he had a reasonable suspicion who had sent him a text.  Only once he had parked his bike in the garage did he slip it out to check.  His suspicions were confirmed by the message on the display: _‘Just testing.’_

He gave an amused snort that Tony was concerned he might have given him a fraudulent number.  Wryly, he sent back, _‘My patience?’_

It was only a few short seconds before he got back: _‘Always :P’_.  The teenager rolled his eyes, and headed inside to check on his mom.


	4. Chapter 4

“Vote for Rogers! Vote for Rogers!” an enthusiastic Philip Coulson barked gaily at the passerbys, passing out bright red-white-and-blue flyers from the large stack in his arms.  Tony had noticed far too late to turn around, and upon making eye contact Phil abandoned his post temporarily and bounded over to meet him.

“Mr. Stark!” Phil beamed, “You are aware student elections are coming up?”

“Oh wow; is it November already?” Tony asked, knowing the answer but deciding to humor the other.

The young man nodded.  “Can I ask who you were planning on voting for?”

Tony twitched, “If I say Steve Rogers, can you not wave one of those flyers in my face?”

“I’ll have you know I stayed up all night making these,” he said, holding the flyers up and trying not to seem _too_ proud.  “It was a lot of work.”

Tony snatched one from the pile.  Garish was an understatement.  It looked like some sort of collage of american flags, bolded text, and a few clipart fireworks.  “All night huh?” he raised his eyebrow, putting his finger on the page, “Well you forgot the bald eagle.”

“Joke all you want, but this guy is going to make a real difference around here.”

“You are aware he’s running for Student Council President, not President of the United States, right?”

“Well yeah, but--”

“You’re also aware I can’t stand him, and you’re very lucky that as a caring friend I allow you two to associate.”

Phil chuckled nervously, knowing Tony wasn’t serious, at least not completely.

“I’m kidding.  If you want to hang out with Mr. USA-hole, then I won’t stop you.  Just don’t expect me to vote for him.”  He patted Phil on the back and strode towards his locker, dodging Natasha and Clint who were either making up after a fight or celebrating an anniversary in the middle of the hall.  Possibly both.  They really needed to find a room.

“See ya Monday, Phil!” he called back over the din, before heaving his bag off of his shoulders and going for the lock.  Dialing in his combination, he opened the locker and deposited his books, grabbing everything he needed for the weekend and stuffing it in his bag.  Then his cell phone rang for the umpteenth time in the past few days.

He clenched his jaw, hitting the button to mute the ringer.  He knew who was calling, and any other time he’d have no problem answering.  This wasn’t any other time though, and this call was going to be another transparent check-up to try and assess his ‘emotional state’.  He’d be fine if everyone would just stop asking him if he was fine.  Just about the only person who hadn’t was Bruce (which was to be expected)... so of course by nasty twist of irony, he was the only one he wished _would_.  As a result, Tony was having a hard time not snapping around him on some of the more stressful days this week had brought him.  Monday was what all this was leading up to, and it was going to be as hard for him now as it ever was.  He had already made plans to skip, but he hadn’t told anyone.  If he disappeared for a day or two without saying anything, people wouldn’t look right away.  Then he could deal with it alone.

He stood by his locker and waited as patiently as he could manage.  Bruce had told him to wait for him there, said he needed to ask him something.  Sighing he pulled out his phone again, ignoring the new missed call alert on the screen and browsing the address book for Bruce’s name.

Just as Tony was about to send the other teen a message as to his whereabouts, he rounded the corner.  Bruce drew up beside him to fiddle in the combo to his lock.  “So how’d that Economics test go?” he asked.

Tony rolled his eyes, “What, you mean besides the fact that I could have shit-bombed it and still made Head of State?  Ehh... I think an A minus... if I wanna be humble about it,” he finished, buffing his nails on his shirt. It was nice to get lost in small talk when he had heavy things on his mind, and it was especially nice to finally have someone who could keep up with him.  He had to give Bruce a little credit, he’d really opened up since that detention back at the tail end of September, if only to Tony.

Bruce gave a somewhat amused noise, neatly sliding his books one by one into his locker.  This had been getting easier... the small-talk thing.  Since he’d left Tony’s house the night he’d clobbered him, the two of them had been conversing more, occasionally spending afternoons at Tony’s place together after school but before his night classes.  In some ways it felt surreal to actually spend time with someone, but he’d decided to take it at face value.  “Grades are an objective manifestation of the real goal of the educational system; the point is _actually_ learning something, not ‘passing’,” he half-teased, half-chastised.

“Objective manifestations or not, isn’t it nice to have the biggest ones in the school?” he sighed contentedly, shooting Bruce a dirty grin.

The teen closed his locker, smirking sideways at Tony’s blatant implication.  “And you’re at, what, a 4.1 to my 4.2?” he raised an eyebrow challengingly.  “I’d get studying if I were you.”

“Hey, Tony Stark doesn’t study, okay?” he corrected, tapping his temple with his index finger, “He allows the knowledge to take residence.”

“Just don’t forget to houseclean occasionally.  Your ‘knowledge’ will get dusty.”  Bruce slid the strap of his backpack over his shoulder, ready to depart.

Tony chuckled in response, “Oh hey, what was it you were gonna ask me?”

The treads of his shoes squeaked against the linoleum as he halted in his tracks.  “Oh...” Bruce vocalized, turning around to face Tony.  He lifted his hand to rub against the back of his neck; he’d almost kind of been hoping Tony would forget he’d mentioned that.  His mother’s words from the morning echoed through his head, _‘Why do you never have that nice Tony boy over?  You should invite him for dinner tonight, Bruce.’_  The teenager cleared his throat.  “My mom-- uh... _I_ was wondering if you’d like to come over for, ah... dinner.”  Upon conclusion of the poorly constructed invitation, Bruce adjusted his spectacles self-consciously.

“You what?” Tony raised an eyebrow.  He must’ve misheard, “Come again?”

“Dinner,” he reiterated.  “At my place.”

No, Tony heard right; he just didn’t believe it, “Am I allowed?”

Bruce wet his lips.  To be honest, he couldn’t be sure.  He hadn’t had anyone over since he was little.  Obviously his mom was alright with it, having advocated it.  But his dad...  Bruce shook his head.  He and Tony began to walk out towards the school parking lot.  “Yeah, it’s fine,” he assured, not letting any of his anxiety show.

Truth be told, Tony was planning to hole up in his room and listen to music for the rest of the day, but this was Bruce Banner, asking him to come over for dinner. Things like this didn’t happen.

“Awesome.  But I’m bringing PJ’s.”  Tony left it unspoken, but if his visit caused a problem, he wanted to be there if and when it got ugly, as opposed to hearing about it second-hand the next morning from Bruce.

“My mom’s gonna think that’s the only thing you wear.”

Tony chuckled, remembering the emergency room, and that one time he decided to be lazy and drive him home from their little Halloween movie marathon (trust him, it had taken a _lot_ of convincing but it had been so worth it) in his pajamas, “To sleep in, you dumbass.”

“Just be there at 5:30,” he retorted.  Bruce slid his keys out of his pocket, peeling off from the other teen to go to his bike.

“Oh you mean you’re not picking me up?” he called out in a tease, wiggling his eyebrows.

Rather than dignify that with a response, Bruce simply lifted his middle finger across the lot.

“Yeah, yeah, get in line!” Tony jeered, marching past Bruce to the lot where he’d parked his Mustang.  Thank God he didn’t have to find his own distraction tonight.

\--

As Tony was finishing up getting ready, he became aware of a presence behind him in his bedroom doorway.  Not even bothering to stand up or turn around, he sighed, “Yes, Dad?”

“You’re going out.”  It wasn’t a question.

“Yep,” Tony responded, not even pausing between lacing up his sneakers.  It was always like this with his father, if they even spoke.  If he wasn’t so personally affected by it, he probably would have been able to understand the distance Howard Stark couldn’t help but maintain between the two of them.  Sometimes it wasn’t just him.  Tony wasn’t even sure who was doing all the pushing away any more, but over the years it had become like a bad habit neither of them could fully break, “Bruce’s place.  Number’s on the fridge.”

Howard Stark nodded to himself, considering his next sentence.  He knew his son wasn’t stupid, not by a long shot.  Tony had noticed the pattern he’d been following for years.  To try and put any gloss over it would be pointless, “I’m going to be out of town for a few days.  Need to take care of some things.”

“I know,” Tony sighed; this was the most honest his father had been with him about his yearly ‘business trip’.  Tony knew why he was going, but it just seemed easier to mentally incriminate him.  He really had loved her.  They both did.  And here without her, they could barely speak to one another.

“You going to be...” Howard started, unsure how to finish.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Tony finished for him.  Finishing up his laces, he stood and turned, stopping to look his father in the eye only once, “Thanks.”

For a moment he held eye contact, and they both knew he wasn’t thanking him for just that one question.  The moment ended, and they were back to being strangers.  Tony hoisted his little overnight bag and walked past his father, silently grateful for that little bit of concern in a sea of indifference.  He texted Bruce to say he’d be on his way soon.

\--

He ran the knife up the middle of the peeled carrot, splitting it into two even halves.  Setting both down on the cutting board on the flat side he began slicing them into semi-circle segments.  As soon as he reached the end, he picked up the wooden board and scraped the knife across the surface to drop the cut carrot pieces into the stewpot on the stove.  It was already at a roiling boil, steam rising lackadaisically from the surface.  Bruce smiled as his mother handed him another carrot she had peeled and rinsed, getting to work on it.

Cooking was one of the many things that brought he and his mom together.  By now he knew all her recipes by heart and could make them himself if he wanted, but it hadn’t always been that way.  When he was really little, he’d been more hassle than help, but she never shoo’d him out of the kitchen.  He fondly recalled baking cookies at Christmas-time to give to work colleagues, family friends and neighbors.  Or hard-boiling eggs and painting them to hide in the yard.  Holiday memories aside, nothing could compare to the joy it gave him to help her prepare an ordinary every day meal.

The doorbell chiming _Ding-Dong!_ lifted his gaze from his task.  “That will be Tony,” he said to her, placing the knife down on the cutting board and quickly wiping off his hands.

Rebecca smiled and nodded at him to go.  Her son practically dashed out of the kitchen, and she wondered if it was as obvious to him as it was to her that he was excited about his friend’s visit.

Bruce opened the front door to find Tony on his step.  “Hey, come on in,” he said, pulling the portal open more and standing aside.

“Okay, yeah,” Tony nodded, slinging his bag over his shoulder and making his way in.  “Thanks again for inviting m-- Oh man,” Tony stopped mid-stride, sniffing the air, “Please tell me that’s not some kind of scented candle.  I don’t think I could handle the disappointment.”

Bruce chuckled as he closed the door and walked around Tony to head back to the kitchen.  “Mom’s making beef stew.”

“God, and to think I was gonna have to decide between Hot Pockets and Easy Mac tonight.”

Rebecca turned to greet their visitor, sweetness in her voice, “Tony, I’m so glad you could make it, dear.  Bruce was so looking forward to seeing you.”

“That so?” Tony asked Bruce with a smirk.

The teen straightened up, clearing his throat.  Rather than try to explain himself, he picked up the knife to resume cutting carrots for the stew.

Tony held up a hand in a small gesture of ‘hello’ to Bruce’s mom, “It’s really nice to meet you, I mean, face to face.”

Rebecca gave a tickled trill, “I quite agree; honestly, it really _should_ have happened sooner!” her hands went to her hips with a _tsk_.

Bruce felt two pairs of eyes fall on him, which he did his best to ignore under the circumstances.

“On the plus side, now we can finally compare notes on how best to torture your son,” Tony fake whispered conspiratorially.

The woman laughed.  “There’ll be plenty of time for that later.”  She then noticed her son with his back to them both as he tended the soup.  “Oh, Bruce, Mommy can handle that; why don’t you take your friend to your room and play a game or something?” she suggested, stepping in to take the wooden spoon from him.

He stepped awkwardly away from the stove.  “Okay.”  He looked at Tony and shrugged his shoulder in direction.  “My room’s this way... we can, uh, drop your bag off,” he justified, starting down the hall.

Tony gave a little nod, falling back in line behind Bruce like a duckling.  Maybe this was a little awkward, but that was probably normal for a first visit.

As soon as they were out of ear-shot of the kitchen, Bruce spoke to Tony over his shoulder, a note of sheepishness lingering in his voice.  “I think Mom forgets I’m not her little baby boy anymore.”  He almosted added _‘It’s a Mom-thing.’_ but thought better of it, considering the early age at which Tony had lost his own mother...

Tony chuckled in response, “I think she’s awesome, man; I’d like to think that mine would’ve been like that,” he added, looking at the floor for a brief moment.

Bruce could feel the wistfulness hanging in the air.  He wet his lips and quickly broke the ice, “I understand why she’s happy for me,” he pushed open his bedroom door, “I haven’t had anyone over in... well, a really long time,” he concluded.  He offered Tony a small smile.

Tony mirrored the other’s smile. He got the gist, this was a big step for him.  But if his mother’s words were to be taken seriously, he’d been really eager to make it, in spite of the push he’d more than likely received from her.  He entered the room, glancing around.  It was decently sized, nowhere near the size of his own room, but still spacious.  In terms of furniture, Bruce had a twin-sized bed, a dresser, and a desk, but most notably was the number of bookcases and bookshelves-- rather than the typical teenager covering every square inch of wall with posters, Bruce had done so with books.  There were hardbacks as well as paperbacks, mostly science fiction and science-based non-fiction.

Bruce motioned at the room at large.  “If you end up staying the night, you can either have the floor in here, or the couch in the living room, whichever’s more comfortable for you,” he offered, not stating any particular preference himself.

Tony felt a blush coming at the memory those words spawned, lowering his head and nodding, “Yeah, I’ll figure it out when and if we get there.”  Tony set his stuff down and took a closer look around, his eyes spotting a neglected looking book in a more disused section of one of the shelves.

“Oh wow, no way,” Tony called out with a nostalgic glint in his eye, pulling the old book out and dusting it off, “You have ‘Flowers for Algernon’?”

“Oh yeah...” Bruce felt the corners of his lips rise as he came over to look at the book Tony had plucked out.  He readjusted his glasses.  “It’s been years since I last read it.”

“This made me wanna get a pet albino mouse back in seventh grade.  No lie.”

Bruce chuckled, folding his arms.  “Made me want to learn a new language.”

Tony let out a short laugh in response, “Turned out I was allergic, what’s your excuse?”

The other teen looked at him smirkingly before raising his right hand in a C-shape that he drew across his face as he closed it.   _‘Guess.’_  He then bent his fingers and stubbed them down on his opposite palm in an arc.   _‘Again.’_  Before fingerspelling Tony’s name and giving him a name-sign that combined the first letter ‘T’ with the sign for _‘Dumb’_ , pressing it to his forehead.

Tony’s eyebrows raised in mock indignation, “You did _what_ to a mall santa?”  He snickered a little at his own joke.  “I think the last time I did sign language was back in fourth grade, when we practiced for graduation... Oh God!” Tony put his palm over his face, wincing, “I just remembered.”

“What?” Bruce asked, putting the book back where it came from between two others.

“We did sign language to some song about world peace by Bette Midler or some shit.  It was so bad I think I actually repressed the memory.”  Tony let out an embarrassed groan, “God, it was _horrible_.  One of the kids stopped halfway through to pick his nose.  And then, like two or three of the ones next to him had been cheating off of him and started doing it too.  I guess they thought it was part of the song.  So by then, the rest of the couldn’t hold it in anymore and just started laughing our little asses off.  I swear the music teacher looked like she would’ve beat the shit out of us if all our parents weren’t watching.”

Bruce gave a guffaw, Tony’s hearty laughter joining in and filling the room.

“I think she quit halfway through that next year,” Tony let out a long sigh when he got his breath back from laughing, “Poor Mrs. Weller... I should send her a letter or something.”  He wiped his eyes.

Bruce took a seat at his desk.  This was so weird.  He was actually _enjoying_ having the other boy over at his place and just shooting the breeze like any two high school-aged pals.  He’d been... a little worried.  Not because of Tony-- they’d been getting along fine-- but because of the last person who he’d had over.  God... it had been _so_ long.  He wondered what they would even say to one another now.  His fingers brushed across the top of the desk over one of the drawers, going very quiet.  “Me too.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, knowing Bruce wasn’t talking about his old music teacher, “Come again?”

Bruce hadn’t realized he’d said that out loud.  “Oh.  Just... an old friend...” the last word came out heavy, like lead.

Tony nodded, understanding immediately, “You were close?”

The teen frowned down at his desk.  Slowly he gave a nod.  “She was my best friend.  My only friend, really...” he gave a laugh, but it was a painful one.

Tony took a seat on the floor, drawing his legs up, “What was her name?”

“Betty,” Bruce said immediately, the very name blossoming a thousand different memories of when they’d played together.  “I have a picture of her, if you’d like to see...”  He pulled out his desk drawer and shuffled around a bit before pulling out a polaroid.  He looked at it a moment himself before entrusting it to Tony.

Tony took it delicately, as if it would disintegrate if he’d handled it wrong.  A boy and a girl were centered in the picture, probably somewhere around the age of seven, if Tony had to guess.  The boy was obviously Bruce-- if nothing else the huge glasses over his eyes gave that away.  The girl had both her arms thrown around his neck, squeezing him from the side, her cheek pressed to his.  It looked like they were at school.  “This her?” He asked pointing to the girl in the photo.

The other teen nodded.  Despite his usual need to keep his past hidden, the memories associated with Betty were some of the few positive ones he had from back then.  “We met in Kindergarten.  I was reading a book alone in the ‘reading corner’, she came over to ask if she could borrow it.  I told her I ‘wasn’t done’.”  Bruce chuckled.  Even back then he’d been a little off-putting and closed off.  “But then she suggested we ‘share’ and sat down next to me like it was a done-deal.”  He laughed.  “I don’t think I even knew how to respond.  But I immediately liked her.  After that we just kind of became best friends.  We did all our school projects together, shared each others’ lunches.  We never played with anyone else.  All the other kids played ‘House’, she and I played ‘Scientists’... we used to find cures for diseases and send spaceships to the moon.”

Tony smiled.  If he closed his eyes, he could almost picture them.  He handed back the polaroid. “Pepper and I used to make cardboard box suits and pretend we were Gundams battling to the death.  Our neighbors thought we were crazy.”

Bruce lifted an eyebrow.  “I didn’t know you two were childhood friends.”  He never would have guessed that.

Tony chuckled fondly, “Yeah.  I met her at a playground the summer before I started grade school.  That was forever ago, though.“

There was a pensive pause, both of them so deep in their childhood memories they had forgotten to speak.  Tony eventually broke the silence.

“Hey if you think you should, go ahead and write her.  I mean, if she’s a real friend, she’ll understand,” Tony’s eyes brightened up, “Hell, I could even get JARVIS to look her up for you.”

Bruce dropped his gaze; after what he had put her through, _would_ she understand?  He’d pushed her away, shut her out of his life... how could he justify that?  He could say he was sorry, but would the apology ever be enough?  He’d hurt her too much.  He didn’t deserve to be forgiven by her.  Bruce returned the photo to the drawer, setting his jaw as she smiled back at him.   _‘I’m sorry, Betty,’_ he thought before sliding it shut.

“So did you ever check out that recommended reading list I lent you?” Tony asked, sensing Bruce might benefit from a change of subject.

The teen leveled a stare at him over his glasses.  “I might have expected ‘Raunchy Red-Heads’, but ‘StudFinder Monthly’ was a surprise.”

Tony snorted, “It’s nothing personal. It’s called the shotgun approach. There was bound to be at least _something_ in there that melted your butter.”

“Uh huh,” Bruce’s eyebrow tweaked.  “At any rate...” he leaned over and pulled open another drawer, taking out the lent material.  “I wasn’t sure if you’d want them back now that they’re all sticky,” he said sarcastically, dropping them into the other boy’s lap unceremoniously.

“Aaaugh!” Tony jumped backwards as if the magazines were on fire, which was pretty hard to do when seated indian-style on the floor, “What are you, freaking crazy?!”  He glared, until he deciphered the look on Bruce’s face.

Bruce had a good laugh at the reaction, as good a revenge as any.  “They’re clean; I didn’t even touch them.”

“Tony!  Bruce!  Brian!  Dinner!!”

Tony grumbled, getting back on his feet slowly, “Hmph... puritan.”

\--

The table was all set with bowls and spoons when they both walked out.  It almost looked weird with four place-settings instead of three, Bruce thought.  He started to pull out his chair to sit.  Rebecca was carrying the large stew pot from the kitchen, hips swaying gently from side to side.  She set it in the middle on a trivet and dropped in the ladle.  “Bruce, honey, I don’t think your dad heard me, would you fetch him?”

The teenager’s face went somewhat downcast, but he nodded obediently.

Tony laid his hand on Bruce’s arm silently after his mother had turned around, asking the other a wordless question with his eyebrows raised and slightly drawn together in concern.

Bruce conveyed a _‘Relax’_ to him, and headed up the stairs to the study. Tony’s eyes continued to follow him nervously until he had disappeared up the stairs.

His father’s door was shut; it wasn’t unusual for the man to lock himself in the room after returning from work, sometimes all night.  It was also where his liquor cabinet was kept.  The man was very particular about the room, and as such neither he nor his mom were allowed to go in unless he was present.

Bruce raised his knuckles and rapped against the wood gently.  “Dinner,” is all the more he said.  He expected to be dismissed, so Bruce gave a little jump when the handle turned.

The door opened and the older man’s eyes bore down on him.  “Come in; I want to talk to you.”

The teenager bit the inside of his mouth and did as told.

\--

Tony turned to regard Rebecca, “So... uhh... you made all this yourself?  It must’ve been a lot of work.”

She smiled, taking her seat at the table.  “Actually, Bruce gave me a hand.  He’s my little helper around the kitchen.”

“He cooks?” Tony’s eyebrows raised slightly.

“Mhm, and quite well,” her smile turned into a proud beam.

“Wow, well, I can’t wait to try your guys’ handiwork.”

“Bruce and Brian should be down soon,” she said, smile hiding the crinkle of worry on her brow.

\--

Brian shut the door behind them both.  He slowly went around his desk to sit; Bruce stayed where he was, standing in front of the writing table.  The man regarded him sternly.  “Was it your mother’s idea to have company?”

He was trying to intimidate him, but it wasn’t going to work.  He _knew_ what would happen to his mom, but the bastard knew better than to inflict the same on him.  “No.  It was mine,” he said undaunted.

Their eyes stayed locked for a long moment, as if Brian was confirming the claim.  Finally he spoke again.  “You didn’t get my permission.”

“I didn’t think I needed it,” he stated simply.

His father slammed his fists down on the desk, rattling the glassware beside him; Bruce didn’t flinch. “This is _my_ house! You do _not_ get to pick and choose what rules to abide by!”  The man’s nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, finding composure before taking a long draw from his whiskey.  “He may stay tonight, but I do not want this becoming a pattern.  Do I make myself clear?” his eyes narrowed down on his son.

Bruce forced his lip not to quiver; he’d been enjoying having Tony over.  He guessed he better enjoy tonight while it lasted.  “Yes, sir,” he responded.

Brian stood, quickly tossing back the rest of his stiff drink.  The two of them exited the study and came down the stairs.

\--

“Bruce’s been up there a while,” Tony started, fiddling with a toothpick from the container near the center of the table, “You think one of us should--?”

“Apologies, Rebecca, I was deep in some reading,” Brian said, pulling out his chair to sit; Bruce slid into his own stealthily, eyes lowered, not about to give away what had really kept them disposed.  The man unfurled the cloth napkin over his lap and looked to Tony, finally acknowledging his presence.  “Who is our unexpected guest?”

Tony felt uncomfortable right away.  This man was giving him a really bad feeling. “Tony Stark,” he answered. _‘As in son of Howard Stark, the guy who could find a way to make you disappear if you happen to cross the wrong line, and could easily own the land you’re standing on. Better watch yourself.’_ he thought.  “Nice to meet you.”  Tony extended his hand.

The man looked a little irked by the interjection, considering he hadn’t asked the boy to introduce himself.  He forced a smile-- the expression warping his face around his jowls-- and took Tony’s offered hand, squeezing a little more firmly than necessary.  “The same,” he merely said.

“Let’s eat, shall we?” Rebecca scooped the ladle from the pot, holding out her hand to Tony in offer to fill his bowl first.

Tony handed it to her, glancing over to Bruce, who seemed noticeably somber about something. Had his father said or done something to him?  Tony’d have to ask him later.  He didn’t like the vibe at this dinner table.  Everything seemed pleasant enough, but it just seemed like they were trying to spread icing over a bad cake.  It was a little too sweet, and he could feel something bitter under everything, not even taking into account Mr. Banner’s death-grip handshake.

The woman filled her husband’s bowl next, then her son’s and finally her own.  When they all had their meals in front of them, she sat down, smoothing out the napkin on her own lap.  “Sweetheart, would you like to say grace?” she looked across the table at Bruce.  The boy looked up, as if startled from his own thoughts.

“I could, if you’d like. I’m a bit out of practice though,” Tony intervened for Bruce, who looked suitably surprised.

Rebecca’s head tilted to the side with an endeared smile.  “That would be lovely, Tony, thank you.”

They all bowed their heads. Tony cleared his throat. How had he used to start these?

“We thank you for the meal before us, and the loved ones we share it with,” Tony paused, opening his eyes and exhaling softly through his nose, “and we ask your mercy for those of us who can’t be here or are no longer with us.”  He closed his eyes again.

As Tony said his prayer, Bruce couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been since the other teen had done this.  The last sentence stuck out like a sore thumb; Bruce knew exactly which two people Tony was describing.  His own family might be a little broken, but at least he had one.  He waited a moment for the other teen to conclude, but he seemed to have either forgotten or gotten lost in his own head.  Bruce coughed and added an “Amen.”  His eyes flicked upward to catch on Tony’s; he wished he could tell him he was welcome here anytime.

“That was a nice prayer, Tony,” Brian commented.  “Howard raised his son right.”

Tony blew on the steaming bowl absently, shaking his head, “It was my mom.  Dad’s always been a busy guy.  Not that I blame him.”

Bruce shifted awkwardly in his seat, not liking the direction this conversation was heading.  He pursed his lips and blew on his spoonful, trying not to let the utensil shake in his grip.

The man hmm’d, taking a bite and swallowing.  He didn’t look up from his bowl.  “Maria, wasn’t it?”

Tony’s spoon fell out of his hand and into his bowl with a clatter.

“Yeah...” Tony replied softly, picking his spoon back up.  “But I only ever called her ‘mom’,” he added, even though it should have been obvious.  Did this guy even know who he was asking?

“My condolences, she was a very magnanimous woman, from what I remember,” Brian said.

Tony’s shook his head, “No it’s fine.  I just don’t talk about her much.”  He blew on his spoonful and brought it to his mouth, taking a bite. A fter he swallowed, he nodded vigorously in approval, “This is awesome!  Seriously, who _really_ made this?  I’m being set up, I know it.”  Flattery was second nature to Tony, but he really was quite impressed with what he was eating, and he’d had personal chefs back when he was too young to use a microwave.  He followed it up with another couple voracious bites.

Rebecca laughed, “I’m glad you like it, dear.  Don’t be shy, there’s plenty.  I can even put some in a tupperware for you to take home, if you’d like,” she offered.

“Don’t get me hooked, Mrs. Banner,” Tony said with a laugh, “I don’t know if I’d be able to wean myself off of this.”

The remainder of dinner proceeded rather uneventfully, and surprisingly peacefully, though Tony had to turn down Rebecca’s offer of a third bowl at least twice.  Bruce’s father excused himself when he was done, standing and retiring to the living room to watch TV and read a magazine. 

Bruce picked up his bowl, stacking it into the others and collecting all the spoons in the top one.  “Mom, you want me to do the dishes?” he offered, carrying them to the sink.

“Uhh, I could help dry if you want?” Tony followed up.

“That would be wonderful, boys, thank you,” Rebecca smiled, ladling the leftovers into tupperware which she then sealed and placed in the fridge.

Bruce nodded and turned on the faucet and got to work.  He’d been quiet most of dinner and he was still feeling withdrawn and angry.  Perhaps subconsciously he was trying not to enjoy this any more, to save himself from missing it later.  Wordlessly he scrubbed at one of the bowls.

“Is something wrong?” Tony asked, wringing the dish towel in his hands absently.  “You’ve been upset since you went up there,” he added, keeping his voice low enough to be blocked out by the television in the living room, “What did he say to you?”  His eyebrows drew together, his hands clenching the towel he was holding.

The teenager sighed.  He wasn’t surprised Tony had noticed, though he’d hoped he wouldn’t ask.  “My dad doesn’t want you over anymore,” he mumbled.

“Oh,” he rolled his eyes as if he’d been expecting this. “Well, he’s just jealous your mom already likes me more,” he said, patting Bruce on the back.  “Don’t worry, I’m not too keen on becoming a stepdad anytime soon,” he finished with a waggle of the eyebrows.

The joke made Bruce’s lips quirk in amusement, but he couldn’t help but retaliate.  He quickly turned the hose on his friend, giving him a blast of water to the face.  “Watch it, or I’ll hang you out to dry.”

Tony wiped his face off with the towel, chuckling, “Point taken.”

Bruce returned to washing smirkingly.  He gazed through the window as he scrubbed, systematically handing the dishware off to his friend who dried them and put them away in the proper cabinet.  Dark had settled outside, the street lamps illuminating the cozy residential street.  He’d have to go soon, but he didn’t want to leave Tony stranded at his house waiting for him to get back.  He pushed his glasses up with the back of his hand to keep the water off them.  “I have night classes in an hour, did you want to come?”

Tony was surprised yet again, by another invitation. Bruce really had been reaching out a lot lately.

He paused, pretending to think it over, “Hmm...”  He smirked at the other teen, “Yeah, why not?  Only other thing I’d have to keep me busy here is maybe to search for your super secret porn stash.”

“Good luck finding it,” Bruce gave him a wry look-- Tony just never gave up, did he?

“Challenge accepted.”  Tony narrowed his eyes.  Bruce pointed the hose at him threateningly.  “Fine, fine!” Tony held up his hands in surrender.  “I can probably wait ‘til you’re asleep anyway,” he added with a murmur. “I’ll tag along.  We can take my ride.”  He grinned a mile wide.

Bruce’s eyebrow tweaked.  Well, that was bound to make for an interesting trip.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Links to songs depicted in this chapter:  
> Underneath the Sycamore by Death Cab for Cutie - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tNmzXCGFHYI  
> Faster by Within Temptation - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jDJpf2mQ0w4

If there was ever a ‘most gaudy car owned by the richest kid at school’ award, Tony would have won it.  The ‘66 convertible was painted cherry red with two wide gold stripes down the length, all its chrome accents, from the bumpers to the mirrors to the trim and door handles, polished to a gleam.  The tires even had a thin whitewall to them.

Bruce eyed the leather seats suspiciously, confirming the absence of seat belts in the muscle car.  “Is this even street legal?” he inquired.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” Tony winked, kneeling slightly as he opened the door for his partner in crime, as it were. “Your carriage awaits.”  He punctuated the last line with a tip of his imaginary hat.

Bruce snorted, putting his palm firmly on Tony’s forehead to give it a playful shove before sliding into the bench seat.  “Thanks,” he pulled the door shut for himself and threw his bookbag in the back.

Grinning, Tony made his way around to the driver’s side door, and slid inside.  He adjusted his rear-view mirror and then gripped the steering wheel, flexing and unflexing his fingers.  An impish grin pulled at the corners of his lips, “You all ready to go?”  He glanced over to Bruce in the front passenger seat, right foot finding its place on the brake, while disengaging the E brake with his right hand.

“Guess I better hope I am,” Bruce said, drawing up the zipper on his bomber jacket.  He always wore it out of necessity in the winter months riding around on his moped, but since Tony had made clear that under no circumstances would he _not_ drive with the top down, he’d donned it for the drive.

“Then hold on,” Tony responded, holding down the clutch and turning the ignition, the engine roaring to life.

“To what?” Bruce lifted an eyebrow at him.

Tony just widened his smile, turning his eyes to the road and shifting the car into first gear.

“Tony? Did you hear wha--aaah!” Bruce was cut off mid sentence by squealing tires as Tony slammed on the accelerator and sent the ‘stang careening forward, leaving a couple long black streaks and the smell of burnt rubber behind them.

Tony’s raucous laughter made its way into Bruce’s ears after the initial shock wore off.  He unlatched his fingers from the seat cushion.  “You should’ve seen the look on your face!” the other teen laughed at him, looking like a hyena.

“You probably woke up half the neighborhood with that stunt,” Bruce informed him, not sure if he should be amused or scolding his friend.

“If your dad’s not gonna let me ever come over again, I can at least say I made him shit his pants,” Tony responded with a devilish grin.  The neatly trimmed goatee didn’t do much to dispel the image either.

Bruce decided on the former.  “Bastard can go fuck himself with a hot poker,” he delivered disdainfully, resting his elbow out the window to fix his gaze on the scenery moving quickly by.

“Aw, man!  That’s just cruel,” Tony winced, then paused before adding, “The fuck did the hot poker do to piss you off that much?”

The other teen grumbled into his palm.

”Hey don’t worry about it.  You can come over to my house every weekend,” Tony reassured.

Bruce’s eyes slid over to his friend, softening a bit.  “Yeah.  Thanks,” he said, meaning it.

“And we’ll have your mom pack us dinner.  Fix his ass.”  Tony grinned, “And we don’t even need to get the poker involved.  See?  Everybody wins!”

Bruce chuckled.  At least the circumstance hadn’t even managed to break Tony’s stride.  His mom though... he hated to think how upset this was going to make her when she found out.  She’d be crushed.

“I’m gonna put on some driving music.  Any requests?” Tony asked, then added, “Something with a _kick_ to it?”

The other teen leaned into his seat self-consciously, eying Tony’s modified sound system.  He had one in mind, but he was a little nervous about requesting it... he didn’t know if Tony would even like it.  “Uhh... well, I don’t know about ‘kick’, but...” he wet his lips, “Underneath the Sycamore?”

“Don’t know it, but I’ll try anything once.”  Tony snapped his fingers, “JARVIS?”

The AI accessed the music database.  Bruce felt his face heat as the intro tune began to play out the speakers, surreptitiously sinking a little lower in his seat when the lyrics began.  He forced his gaze back out the window and away from the other teen.

Tony had started to bob his head to the beat as the song began to grow on him, “Not bad.  Not bad at all.”  He picked up on the melody easily enough, and had actually started to hum along by the second chorus.

Bruce closed his eyes, letting the feel of the breeze tugging through his hair and the song lull him into a wary peacefulness.  Listening to it had always been cathartic, but he felt a deeper connection to it now more than ever.  When the song ended, Bruce opened his eyes with a soft sigh.

“JARVIS, add to download queue.  Home network.  Personal Computer: Tony.”

“Consider it done, sir,” the AI responded.

He _had_ liked it then.  Bruce fiddled with the cuff on his jacket.  “Uh... your pick, I guess,” he smiled shyly.

“Well,” Tony pondered, slowing to a stop begrudgingly for a red light, “Depends.  You want something mellow, or something with a little oomph?”

“Oh, I guess I could stand ‘a little oomph’,” Bruce rolled his eyes with a smile.

Tony shook his head, “Nahh, you’re not ready yet.  On the way back though...” Tony grinned, “See it’s no fun this early.  Some of these people are actually still awake.  Can’t wake the whole town if they’re not all asleep to wake up.”

“Fine then, mellow,” he pretended to be irritated.  “But why did you give me the option when it wasn’t even an option?”

“Ehh I remembered a song you might like last minute,” Tony admitted, “Plus it’s entertaining to hear you say the word ‘oomph’.”

“‘Oomph’ is in the dictionary.”

Tony lifted an eyebrow at Bruce, “Are we really doing this right now?  ‘Fuck’, ‘hot’, and ‘poker’ are in the dictionary too, and I never expected to hear you say _those_ in a sentence either, at least before five minutes ago.”  He punctuated his words with a grin, temporarily lifting both his hands off the steering wheel in a surrendering gesture, “But hey, if you’re gonna get all argumentative about it then fine, we’ll save it.  Mellow would get drowned out by the engine anyways.”

“I might not have gotten argumentative if you’d informed me from the beginning that my choice was irrelevant,” Bruce shot back, in no way breaking the playful quarreling that had been started between them.

Tony slammed his hands on the wheel, pretending to snap, “I will turn this car around, so help me God!  Don’t think that I won’t!”

“Sure you’re not ready to be a father?” Bruce accused with a crooked sneer.

Tony shook his head emphatically, “Oh, you’re much worse than a kid.  Can’t recall any little cousin of mine trying to rearrange my face.”  He turned to stick his tongue out at Bruce for a split second.

“Oh, just play your damn song before I decide to do it again,” the teen cracked his knuckles.

Feeling he’d won the argument, Tony nodded smugly.  “JARVIS.  Faster, by Within Temptation.”

The low thrum of the electric guitar rumbled the stereo, and Tony had already started to tap his hand on the steering wheel.  A strong-willed woman vocalist belted out to the accompaniment of the vibrating power chords and drums; though she sounded fed up and tossed about by life, she also sounded in control, like she knew what was ahead of her and she could handle it.  It filled Bruce with a sense of empowerment and even he began to bob his head to the crash of cymbals in the chorus.  Tony had long since started to drum his hands and had lost himself to the urge to sing along, not really caring how loud he was.

The song pounded to a faded finish too soon.  Bruce looked over at his friend.  “Glad I argued for ‘oomph’.  Mind putting that one on loop?”

Tony chuckled. “I’ll lend you the CD next time you stop over.  It would’ve been a real awkward kiss-off if I found out you had no taste.  JARVIS, repeat play.”

The guitar began anew and this time, Bruce let himself sing along too.

\--

Classes actually went faster with Tony there with him.  Mostly because the other teen couldn’t stop interjecting and leaning over to say something snide or smart-ass in his ear.  He also couldn’t seem to get it through his head (or had chosen not to) that he was just a sit-in and wasn’t supposed to be answering all the questions the professor posed throughout lecture.

_‘Shh!’_

_‘But I know the answer!’_

_‘I said, shh.’_

_‘Shh isn’t a word.’_

_‘Rhinoplasty is.’_

When he’d gotten that to stop, Tony just moved on to engineering paper airplanes out of his lined paper and sailing them across the room.  His antics seemed to awaken the normally lethargic student body, and before long it was as bad as the typical high school classroom.  Needless to say, by the end of the class period, Mr. Baker was looking suitably flustered.

Thankfully, Bruce was able to drag his friend out before he inducted the entire JC into his fanclub and started taking autographs.

“You think you could do me a favor and be a little less popular?” Bruce snorted as they piled back into Tony’s mustang.  He finished zipping his coat and settled in, throwing an arm over the back of the seat and giving his friend an amused look over his glasses.

“I knew it was only a matter of time before jealousy would rear its ugly, wrinkled head... though I was almost sure that was your teacher...”  He shut his door and paused, confused, then his eyes lit up as if he’d found his way again, “Hm, false alarm.”  He went on, “But hey, you should just be glad those guys aren’t a bunch of stuffy, humorless drones.  I mean what’s the point of getting into a good college, getting a six figure income, and living in a mansion up in the Hamptons with a bunch of strippers if you’re gonna be all uptight and boring about it?” Tony rolled his eyes, “All you’ll have then is a world full of Bruce Waynes,” he spat the last part out in mock-distaste.

“Right, because getting into a good college, getting a six figure income, living in a mansion and being an attention-seeking egotist is muuuch better,” Bruce took a jab at the other boy in attempt to rile him up.

“Oh no, sir. I am not playing Batman versus me.  It’s not even a contest,” Tony retorted, shaking his head. 

It was working.  “You’re right, it’s not,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Oh don’t you dare say it...” Tony warned.

Bruce laughed, which could be interpreted as saying it enough.

“I’ll have you know you just got dropped from my list of respected Bruces.”  He scowled, pointing the finger of death at his companion, “Now it’s just Bruce Willis and Bruce Campbell all by their lonesome.  I don’t know how I’m gonna break it to them.”

The other teen shrugged with a half-smile.  “I’ll manage somehow.”

“Get out of my car,” Tony narrowed his eyes, trying to keep his scowl in place, but failing miserably.

After they’d shared a good laugh, Tony sighed and started the car, pulling out of their parking space, thankfully not in the same way he had when he’d left Bruce’s house.

Bruce was in high-spirits when they arrived back.  He fished his house keys out of his pocket to slide them into the lock.  Tonight had been... good.  Well, as good as it could be under the circumstances surrounding his father, but still and all what he’d classify as good.

Once he had the door unlocked, he pushed it open; all the lights inside were off except for the countertop light in the kitchen-- his mom always left that one on for him so he’d be able to navigate through the otherwise dark house.  The teen turned back to his friend to whisper, “My parents are probably asleep by now, so try to keep your voice down.”  He paused and added,  “ _If_ that’s possible for you.”

“Kiss my ass,” Tony hissed back, “But do it quietly, if you can.”

He chuckled but left it alone.  With quiet footfalls Bruce led them back down the hall to his bedroom.  A quick glance up the stairs revealed a crack of light underneath the study door, but Bruce hurried along, not breaking his gait.  He reached in to turn on the light in his room and shut the door after his friend.  He went over to his desk to set down his book bag, then removed his coat which he hung over one of the bedposts.  “Normally I’d stay up another hour or so and read,” he said, “but, um...” he rubbed the back of his neck, not sure what to suggest they do until bed.  “Have any ideas?  I mean, unless you’re _alright_ with reading...” he readjusted his spectacles.  He’d just started a new book the night before, a continuation of a series by one of his favorite sci-fi authors, which was currently resting on his pillow.

Tony shrugged his shoulders, “Well, we can’t _both_ read the same book, can we?”

Bruce’s face quirked oddly at the comment.  “No, I guess not.”

“Well I’ll try and think of something, uhh... there anywhere I can change into my PJ’s?”  He grabbed his day-bag up from the floor.

“Bathroom’s just down the hall, back the way we came... door on the right,” Bruce answered, sitting on his bed and removing his shoes.

Tony hesitated for a moment, “Um... yeah, that goes by your parents’ bedroom doesn’t it?”

The other teen shrugged, grabbing up his novel.  “Or you can change in here,” he said aloofly, pulling up his feet and leaning against the headboard; he cracked open his book.

Tony swallowed, “And you’re gonna be reading, right?”

Bruce’s eyes were already scanning left to right over the text of the new chapter; he had to look up to answer Tony’s question.  “Yeah.  Unless you _wanted_ me to watch you?” he raised an eyebrow his direction.

Tony felt a blush creep up his cheeks, “Shut up, it’s not like that.  I just... Uhh...”  He looked down at the floor.

Bruce contemplated the other teen’s affect, trying to understand what was holding him back.  Then it occurred to him.  The cardiac surgery.  “I already saw it, relax.”

Tony’s head snapped back up, “Excuse me?”

Bruce shrugged.  “The other day.  It was back in September.  You know, when I uh... beat your face in?”  He licked his lips.  “You took off your shirt as I was leaving and I just kind of... saw...” he finished lamely, gesturing with a hand, hoping Tony wouldn’t be too upset about it.

Tony’s blush deepened, and he could feel his ears go hot, “Oh.”  He got quiet, not sure exactly how to proceed in this line of conversation.

“D-did you, uh... I mean was-- w-was it, uh...”  He looked back down to the floor, hands subconsciously coming up over his shirt to cover where the scar would be on his chest.  “S-sorry, I uh, I just... it’s just...” he stopped himself mid stutter, exhaling harshly, turning to look Bruce in the eye again nervously, “Do you want to see it, or something?”  In spite of his visibly nervous state, it was pretty clear that Tony was offering to show it to him, not accusing him of wanting to peek...

The teenager’s brow knotted at this offer.  He admittedly hadn’t gotten a good look that September evening...  Intellectual curiosity bubbled up inside him.  He set his book back down and once more pushed his glasses up.  “Would you show me?” he asked; he didn’t want Tony to feel obligated-- he knew it was a sensitive subject for the other boy.

Tony nodded.  “I gotta be able to show somebody, right?” he remarked, trying to laugh it off.  He looked down at the bed, where Bruce’s legs were propped up, “Can I sit?”

Bruce moved them to give Tony room, and Tony sat down, scooting back until his elbow bumped the wall.  Sitting indian style, he grabbed the hem of his tee shirt, hesitating there for a second.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Bruce said, sensing Tony might not be ready to commit.

“No, no; it’s fine.  I want to,” Tony answered, determined; Bruce waited patiently.  With a deep breath in, then out, Tony slowly lifted the hem of his shirt.  He continued to pull upwards slowly until he’d pulled the hem up past his shoulder blades, where they bunched up around his arms, and he struggled with them for a second before finally getting the shirt over his head and off.  Noticing how his arms had reflexively folded in front of him, covering his chest, he slowly unfolded them and let them fall to his sides, letting out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

Bruce’s eyes were instantly drawn to the long line of marred flesh that started at Tony’s clavicle and ran all the way down to his solar plexis.  It was discolored from the tone of the surrounding skin, creating a harsh contrast.  He felt his fingers flex and finally he blinked, as if coming out of a trance.

Tony looked up at Bruce’s face, searching for any kind of tell on his reaction, “So...”

“It’s incredible,” he said, not disguising his awe.  Tony flinched slightly when Bruce’s hand came up, but he didn’t touch, instead tracing a hair away from the surface, fingertips only grazing the scar tissue once for a split second.  “They must’ve cut through your breastbone with a sternal saw... I can tell, the reciprocating blade would have created this dimpling of the skin...”  His mouth shut then, leaning back, worried perhaps he was being insensitive towards Tony.

“What?” Tony asked, noticing the change in posture and demeanor in his friend, “Did I do something wrong?  Cuz I’m just sitting here, I swear.”

Bruce shook his head.  “No.  I just thought maybe you, uh... would think I was being... weird.  For being so fascinated.”  He scratched the back of his head.

Tony chuckled a little embarrassed, “Eh, it’s kind of flattering actually... I just kind of expected... well, I didn’t know what to expect.”

“Well, it’s a lot more interesting than the ones I have,” Bruce said matter-of-factly.  His eyebrows lifted as if suddenly realizing what he’d just admitted to.

Tony’s eyebrows lifted in an almost mirror expression to what Bruce had said, “You have scars too?”

The other teen looked away anxiously.  “Yeah.  A couple...”

“Oh,” Tony replied, trying not to sound too eager to see.  Judging by Bruce’s response, he wasn’t sure he even meant to say it out loud, “Well that’s... uhh...”

“Yeah,” Bruce’s gaze lowered into his lap, twiddling his thumbs, “My dad gave them to me.”  He wasn’t even sure why he admitted that.  Sure, Tony was a smart kid and he’d probably figured all that out a long time ago, but actually coming out and _saying_ it was a whole lot different.  He felt his chest begin to rise and fall, heartbeat quickening, epinephrine surging through his system.

“Your _dad_?” Tony’s eyes widened.  He’d never imagined that Bruce’s father’s violence ever had reached beyond one person.  While he’d never condone it, he could wrap his head around spousal abuse, but Bruce, Bruce wasn’t an adult, he was their kid.  This was wrong.  And it explained so much.  Why Bruce was so hard on the outside.  It wasn’t just to protect his mother. His head was starting to hurt, “When did it happen?”

“It was a long time ago,” Bruce said, as if that somehow in any way made it less of a big deal.

Tony cut in, bumping a fist dully on his shoulder, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.  It goes both ways.”

The teen chuckled; a couple months ago Tony would have pushed and pushed and pushed to get him to ‘show and tell’.  A couple months ago Bruce would have refused to speak a word about it.  Which was exactly why he chose to roll up the cuff of his right sleeve past his elbow.  He presented the gnarled line running along his forearm over his ulna a couple inches.  “This one, I was five.  Didn’t know my dad’s study was ‘off-limits’.  He hit me and I fell down the stairs.  Cut it on one of the steps.”  The teen’s jaw set.

Tony, unlike Bruce, couldn’t keep his hands to himself when he felt the urge to reach out and touch it.  He gently traced it from end to end with his index and middle finger on his right hand, “I’m sorry... looks like it hurt...”

Bruce shrugged his shoulders, rolling his sleeve back down.  “I learned my lesson.  Never go near Dad’s study.  That’s what he wanted.”

Tony’s jaw tightened.  “I’d like to teach him a lesson or two,” he hissed out.

Bruce reached out to grab his friend firmly by the shoulder, locking eyes with him.  “Tony, it’s in the past.  It was over twelve years ago.  There’s no need to get angry on my behalf, okay?”  He smiled a sad little smile.  “I’ve been dealing with this almost all my life; I can handle it.”

Tony took a breath, pushing his anger down, “I’m sorry, it’s just... I knew he was a coward, but I didn’t think he was _that_ much of a coward...” he spat with disdain.

“He’s not a coward...” Bruce started to defend, then ended up shaking his head from side to side.  “He’s just... I don’t know.”  Words failed him.  The teen’s gaze slid over to his bedroom door; they probably ought to stop talking about this anyway.  “You should probably get changed the rest of the way,” Bruce suggested, picking his book back up.  “But thanks for... letting me see it,” he said, gesturing at Tony’s chest.

Tony nodded, standing up and moving to the corner, “I think I understand what you mean.”  He kicked off his sneakers, then sat down to tug his socks off, tucking them neatly into the shoes.  “It’s like with my dad,” he continued, unbuttoning his jeans and sliding them down off of his hips.   He was able to step out of them with a fair amount of difficulty when they bunched around his ankles, kicking the irritating garment to the side once he’d finally stepped out of them.  “I mean, he’s never around,” he tugged a tank top over his head, “and I don’t know if he could even pull the dad thing off if he was, but...” he shook his head, “It’s like, he’s still my dad, and I lo-” Tony stopped, hopping on alternating legs to pull on his pajama pants while sporting a sour face at what he’d almost said, “I _care_ about him, I guess.  So I would rather he get better at it than drop dead, you know?”  He smiled, now fully dressed for bed, and slid back next to Bruce on the bed once again.

Bruce nodded solemnly; he’d returned his nose to his book while Tony changed, trying to get back into the story and think less about the current topic of conversation.  “Yeah...” he mumbled; he thought it very unlikely his father would ever get ‘any better’.  A soft sigh left his lips.  Stubbornly he kept reading.

“I wonder...” Tony sighed.

“Hm?”

“Nothing, just thinking.  You think if I nabbed that book you’re reading your brain might reset and make us have to start everything over?”  As he spoke, he had inched slowly to Bruce’s side, peeking at the book over his shoulder.

Such an odd question made Bruce look up.  “No,” he responded completely logically, a little confused.  He noticed Tony was trying to spy a glimpse at the pages, so he moved it from his lap to his knee so his friend could read more easily.

“Good,” Tony stated bluntly, apparently satisfied with the answer, “Some of that was a pain in the ass.”

Bruce chuckled.  “Maybe for you,” he joked, giving Tony a small shove on the arm.  “Let me know when you get to the bottom, so I can turn the page,” he said.  When he and Betty used to share a book back in elementary school, he was always the one who held it, and she would tell him when to flip.  Of course, the books back then had been much thinner, with less words and significantly more pictures.  It was... nostalgic, to say the least.

Tony grinned, “Careful, I’m a speed reader.” 

Bruce gave a snort of amusement; Tony always had to go and make things into a pissing contest, didn’t he?

There was another stretch of silence, with just Bruce and Tony reading, and Tony telling Bruce when to turn the pages.

“When are _you_ going to bed?” Tony piped up suddenly.

The teenager hummed, drawing back his sleeve enough to get at his wristwatch.  “Probably soon.”  He hesitated then, remembering how earlier he’d told Tony he could sleep out on the couch or here in his room.  “I, um... it gets a little chilly out in the living room late at night...” he said, rubbing his neck, “you might be more comfortable in here.  I can get some blankets out of the linen closet to lay on the floor.”  He wasn’t going to outright say it that he’d rather have his friend sleeping in his room, but his awkward questions and body language pretty much gave it away.

“Oh, I get it; you want me to stay in here tonight?” Tony asked, knowing the answer but not sure what version of it he was actually going to get.

“I just don’t want you to get lonely,” he covered.  “I know you hate it.”

Tony put a hand on his chest, faking outrage, “Excuse me?  You sir, are projecting more than a planetarium.”

The teenager put his palm firmly on the crown of Tony’s head, pushing his face down into his mattress to get him to shut up, laughing as he did so.

Tony was shouting something that sounded suspiciously like ‘uncle’, repeatedly.  It was a shame the mattress was muffling his voice.

A soft knocking came from his door.  Bruce let Tony’s head up abruptly.  “Yeah?” he vocalized.

The doorknob turned and Rebecca peeked her head in.  “There’s my two little sweethearts...” she stepped in, dressed in her nightgown and slippers.

Tony looked a little sheepish.  “Sorry, Mrs. Banner.  Did we wake you up?”

“Oh no, dears, don’t worry; I heard you come in earlier,” she explained, smiling sweetly at them both.  But Bruce perceived the slight look of sadness in her eyes, and he could tell his father had already told her Tony wasn’t allowed over anymore.  She brushed some hair away from her face.  “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything before bed?”

“No, we’re good, Mom, thanks,” Bruce responded.

“Well, alright.”  She came over to place a chaste kiss on Bruce’s forehead.  Rebecca drew back.  “It’s almost midnight, you boys should get some sleep; don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

Tony glanced sideways at Bruce, as if to ask if she was being serious about this whole ‘bedtime’ thing, “Uh, we won’t.”

She started to turn to go.

Tony slid off the bed and to a stand, “Oh, actually Mrs. Banner, where’s the linen closet, again?” 

“ _Bruce_ ,” her voice held a note of scolding, “you’re not making your friend sleep on the floor, are you??”

The teenager looked like a deer caught in the headlights, his eyes wide behind his spectacles.  “I, uh...”

“No, that’s alright, Mrs. Banner,” Tony interrupted, “I don’t wanna kick him out of his own bed.”

“Nonsense, he can share.  Can’t you, honey?” she looked over at Bruce.  It would have been bullying if not for the fact that she was his mother and mothers knew best.

Bruce coughed into his fist.  Sharing a book was one thing, but sharing a bed too?  That was a bit more personal than he was used to.  It was a matter of personal space.  If they were both, say, six, it would have made more sense, but they were both nearly full-grown adults.  Still, he couldn’t bring himself to say no to her.  “I, um... yeah, I guess... if he’d rather...”

Tony murmured his responses at around the same time, mostly unintelligible ‘whatever’s and ‘sure’s, though he’d be lying if this didn’t bring back some deja vu.

“There, see?” Rebecca smiled happily.  “Tony, dear, I’ll go grab you another pillow.”  She went off down the hall.

Bruce coughed again and stood as well, going over to his dresser to pull out a plain white t-shirt and a pair of boxers.  He started to unbutton his dress shirt, turning to face away from his friend.

Tony snorted, “Hypocrite,” He shot with a grin.

”Excuse me?” Bruce lifted an eyebrow, turning halfway around.

“Nothing, I didn’t say anything. That was a sneeze.”  Tony grinned.

“It is _my_ room,” Bruce stuck out his tongue at him as he hung his dress shirt back up in his closet.

“No, you dope,” Tony retorted, rolling his eyes, “You’re turning around to take your shirt off like you weren’t just ogling my chest like a Van Gogh thirty seconds ago.  The hell have you got there-- a third eye?”

“Not to my knowledge,” he said, pulling his t-shirt on over his head and being careful not to displace his glasses with the collar.  He then started to remove his pants.  “Besides, you offered, remember?”

“Oh.  Right.”  Tony paused, put in his place for one rare shining moment, “Well, uhh.”  He looked away as Bruce dropped trou, crouching down to search his overnight bag.  Finding his toothbrush, he stood up and fixed his gaze on the doorway, “I’m gonna go brush.”

“Okay,” Bruce didn’t seem to notice his friend’s rather sudden need to evacuate, slipping his dirty boxers off and a fresh pair on.

Rebecca bumped into Tony in the hall.  “Here you go, sweetie, it’s the fluffiest one we have,” she gave the pillow a couple of fluffs as if to prove it before handing it to him.  “If you need the thermostat adjusted or anything, just let Bruce know, okay?”

Tony took the pillow under his arm, trying to absorb what all was being said so suddenly, “O-Okay.  Thanks, Mrs. B.”

She beamed at the impromptu nickname.  “You’re more than welcome.  Goodnight, Tony; goodnight, Bruce!” she called in to her son.

The boy entered the hall.  “‘Night, Mom,” he stopped to give her a quick hug.

“G’night, Mrs. B.”  Tony hesitated, not sure what the appropriate gesture would be.  He moved forward, awkwardly extending his hand to shake.

The woman just tittered.  “You’re such a little gentleman.  Come here,” she put her arms around him in embrace and pressed her lips to his temple; she lingered there a moment before letting go.  When she drew back, her eyes looked a little glossy, like she was going to miss him.  “There, now go on and get those chompers clean, or they’ll rot clean out of your head!” Rebecca forced herself to chastise, wagging a finger at them both.  “Goodnight, boys,” she said one last time as she walked back to the master bedroom and shut the door behind herself.

“G-goodnight...” Tony uttered, touching his temple softly, and wondering why that felt so sadly familiar.  He padded on towards the bathroom, wiping away the liquid remnants of that train of thought from his eyes.

“You’re an unbelievable dork,” Bruce commented as he followed his friend into the bathroom, taking his toothbrush from the holder on the counter.  He uncapped his toothpaste and squeezed some out onto it before wetting the bristles under the faucet.  “You’re not wrong though, she does seem to really like you.”  He pressed the toothbrush into his mouth and began to scrub, considering his own statement more deeply-- all this time he’d denied himself a friend, but in so doing, he’d also denied his mom the joy of coddling whomever he befriended.  The way she had just scooped Tony into her arms... he hadn’t seen her so torn between happiness and sorrow.

“Oh shut up,” Tony retorted around a mouthful of toothpaste foam.  He rinsed and spat.  “Don’t berate me for getting in between you and your Oedipus complex,” he finished, lifting his eyebrows as if daring Bruce to get back at him.

Bruce gave him a look over his glasses and reached up with his non-brushing hand to pull on his friend’s ear sharply.

Tony cried out, “Okay!  Okay okay okay okay ow ow ow sorry!  I’m sorry!  I take it back!  Uncle!” It didn’t matter how old you were, that little maneuver always hurt like hell.

The teenager chuckled through his toothpaste, letting go before leaning over to spit out his lather.  He rinsed and gargled a couple of times, then returned his toothbrush to its holder and dried off his hands.

“I’m glad you think it’s funny, I bet my ear looks like one of those punk kids’!”  Tony leaned out over the counter to look at his sore ear in the mirror, “You know, with the gauges?”

“It might be less funny if you didn’t ask for it every single passing moment,” Bruce said matter-of-factly, folding his arms with amusement.

Tony let out an over-dramatic gasp of indignation, still being mindful of his noise level, as they left the bathroom, “I do _not_.  You’re just using that as a convenient excuse to rough me up at your own discretion.”

“Then shouldn’t you stop tempting me?”  If you asked Bruce, his friend liked their playful bouts of teasing followed by punishment.  Otherwise it wouldn’t keep happening.

“Tempting you?  Tempting is waving a chocolate bar in a starving man’s face.  Tempting is showering with the blinds open when a pervert lives next door.  I have done nothing that could even be classified as remotely tempting.  Ever,” Tony continued on in the guise of outrage.

Bruce gave a snort.  “Provoking, then,” he modified his verb.  He hooked a thumb at his bed.  “You want the wall or the edge?”

“This is another setup isn’t it?” Tony raised his eyebrow, bringing a hand up to stroke his goatee as he paced and considered the pros and cons, “If I take the edge, you can just push me off the bed.  However,” he stopped and whirled around to face Bruce, index finger in the air, “If I take the wall, there’s no watertight exit plan, should I ‘provoke your wrath’,” he finished with finger quotes.

“Sounds like quite the quandary,” the other teen ribbed, waiting for Tony to make up his mind.

Tony tapped his chin pensively for a moment, and just as Bruce looked like he was going to pipe up and decide for him, he held his index finger up once again, gesturing, “Edge.  But only for safety reasons.  If this place catches fire, I’ll have a headstart out the door.”

“Alright,” Bruce vocalized.  He removed his glasses, folding the stems in carefully before setting them on his desk.  He then lifted the covers to slip under them and scooched as far over to the wall as he could, lying on his back, “but that means you have to get the light.”

“A heavy burden to bear, but I’ll suffer it gladly,” Tony responded, turning on his heel toward the lightswitch.  He flicked it off unceremoniously, and his eyes went wide immediately as they were drawn to the ceiling.  A thousand-- or Hell, maybe more-- glow-in-the-dark speckles dotted the surface above his head; some the large stick-on kind shaped like five-pointed stars, others just points that had been applied with glow-paint.  A few of the larger ones mapped out familiar constellations, like Orion and Scorpio.  It bathed the room in a faint, near-imperceptible glow.

Tony let out an almost silent ‘whoa’, as he made the slow 180 degree turn to take the starscape in.  When he’d reached the end, his eyes rested on Bruce-- the boy looked like he’d practically forgotten they were there.  “Now this?  This is awesome,” he said with an amused grin, plopping back down on the bed.

“Yeah?” Bruce asked, perhaps a little surprised to hear it.  He’d more expected to be teased.

“Hell yeah.  Who’s the Michelangelo responsible for this?”

Bruce chuckled softly, lacing his fingers together to rest them on his stomach.  “Betty and I did it together in 4th grade using an astronomy book we borrowed from the library.  Took all weekend.”  He smiled at the memory.

Tony whistled, “I can tell you, if Pepper and I had tried this in fourth grade, my ceiling would look like a motel bed under a blacklight,” he said with a snort.

“Thanks... I think,” Bruce said, trying not to envision that.

“You think?  Well it’s not like you were going for the ‘milky way’, so I’d just take the compliment if I were you.”  Tony grinned, knowing he was probably poking at a nerve by alluding to anything remotely sexually implicit.

“Alright, _thanks_ ,” Bruce amended with slight irritation.  He stared up at the blurry little points of light, releasing a hard sigh.  Fourth grade.  The same year Betty had kissed him.  It had been right here in his room, around midnight, when they were having one of their pretend camp-outs under the stars, sleeping bags and all.  He hadn’t expected it.  He hadn’t even realized she felt that way about him... they were just kids back then, just _friends_.  His eyes watered and he forced them shut.  That moment changed everything thereafter.  He’d been afraid to reciprocate any of her feelings, thinking childishly that if he did, he’d treat her the same way he saw his father treating his mother...  So he started to push her away, avoided her at school and stopped visiting one anothers’ houses.  It hurt him as much as it hurt her, but he hid the emotion.  It was when the on-set of his anger issues first appeared, when he started lashing out at other students and causing trouble at school.  He remembered wishing desperately that they could just go back to being friends.  But they couldn’t.  Bruce grit his teeth.  He rolled over onto his side, facing away from Tony, fuming for a few moments.  “Sorry... I’m getting up in my head again,” he muttered in apology.

Tony laid back, putting his hands behind his head, trying to mask his genuine concern so he didn’t come off too pushy, “Aw, don’t get all withdrawn again, man.  I don’t think I could stand being lost in space alone,” he finished with a fake pout.

The boy grumbled into his pillow and curled up tighter.

Tony got the impression that this was serious, “Hey, Big Guy, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Bruce growled, just wanting Tony to drop it and leave him alone. 

Tony’s eyebrows drew together, “Okay, Bruce, come on.  You can talk to me.”

Still no answer.  Tony was getting anxious.  This wasn’t funny anymore, he could have gone into one of those trances again, like the one back in September when Tony had cussed him out.

“Bruce...” Tony started, feeling unnaturally anxious.  He put his hand on Bruce’s arm and shook gently, pleadingly, “Please?  Look I’m sorry.  I just-- I didn’t...  I shouldn’t have...  Make fun of me or something.  Come on.”

Finally the other teen rolled back over, huffily, still obviously in a bad mood.  “You’re a complete jackass.  There, happy?”

“No.  What the hell did I say this time?” Tony huffed, “I want to say sorry, and I probably should, but I don’t even know what I did.”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.  “It’s... it’s not even you, okay?” he tried to explain without saying too much.  If you wanted the truth, _he_ was the jackass, not Tony.  He lifted a hand to motion it towards the ceiling.  “These have a lot of memories attached to them for me.  Some good... some... not so good.”  He frowned.  “But I’m glad to hear you like them.”

“You two didn’t end on certain terms...” Tony said it more like he was thinking out loud than if he were asking a question.

Bruce’s eyebrows drew down, glancing over at his friend; he rubbed his elbow.  “No, not really...” he said, breathing out.

Tony went on.  “If there wasn’t any hope left, it wouldn’t have been too hard to paint over it.”  The teenager had his phone out, and was taking pictures of the ceiling now, “It would’ve been harder _not_ to paint over it.”  Tony’s voice was still at the same level, but something about it seemed distant, like he was no longer talking about Bruce or his issues, or even the ceiling anymore, but something or someone else entirely.

Bruce sighed.  Why had he kept them?  Had some part of him hoped his and Betty’s friendship wasn’t over?  That one day sometime in the indeterminable future, she might be here standing here again and she would look up and see them and laugh and say, “I can’t believe you kept these all this time...”?  Or was it just that, like Tony said, that it was _harder_ to keep them, that every night they served as a reminder of his lost friendship.

The teenager’s brow drew down.  And yet... he’d found a new one, hadn’t he...?

Tony’s focus came back all too quickly, turning to look at Bruce, his tone of voice a forced nonchalance that Bruce could have seen through even back when these stars were new, “Ah, sorry, don’t mind me, I’m just mumbling to myself.  Yeah, the ceiling’s cool.”  He went back to snapping pictures of said ceiling with his phone.

Bruce hummed.  “You know, sometimes I think there’s a lot more to you than fast cars and perverted jokes.”

“Nope,” Tony enunciated, his lips making a small popping noise at the end.  He hadn’t stopped taking photos of the ceiling yet, but he was grinning.

“Hmm...” Bruce vocalized, not believing his friend for an instant, but he’d let him keep his facade.  “What are those for anyway?” he asked as Tony snapped away repeatedly.

“If this really is my last night here, I’m taking a piece of the sky with me,” he said, sounding almost too serious.

Bruce raised his eyebrow at this thoughtfully.  Maybe these stars could still be host to new memories.  He would always have the ones with Betty, but the ones he was forming now, with Tony, were special too, in their own way.  That’s part of what this was about, wasn’t it?

“Speaking of which, uhh... what are you doing tomorrow?  You busy?” Tony questioned.

“Homework.  Same as any other weekend.”  The boy shrugged, fluffing the pillow under his head.  “Why?”

“Oh, uh... no reason,” Tony lied.  Thinking better of it, he amended, “I was wondering if you could come by my place tomorrow.  It’s getting cold out, so I’m thinking of opening the indoor pool, or the jacuzzi.  Maybe both.  Oh and I’m still trying to find a game I can beat you in.”  He wasn’t sure if he was babbling now or not, so he stopped to let the invitation hang in the air.

Bruce rubbed at his neck, thinking of the homework and reading assignments he had on his plate right now.  “I might be able to squeeze in a visit Sunday afternoon...”

Tony looked like he was about to protest, but in spite of himself, he held it in and nodded.  It was the best he was gonna get in this situation, and he knew it.  He was already starting to feel that dread of being alone tomorrow.  Pushing it back down he responded, “You got it.  Just text or call.  You know I always ans--”

Footfalls sounded in the hall; Bruce instinctively threw his hand over Tony’s mouth with a _‘Shh!’_  He knew that having Tony stay overnight had already been testing the limits of his father’s patience, and he didn’t want to test it any further if they got caught talking late into the night-- the man could, after all, still send Tony home.  Bruce kept his breathing shallow until he finally heard the master bedroom door shut.  Then he let his fingers peel away from the other teen’s face.

“Old man?” Tony asked after waiting few seconds more.

“Yeah,” Bruce mumbled, fairly certain by now that they were in the clear.  “Sorry about... um,” he apologized awkwardly, flexing the fingers he’d had over Tony’s mouth before resting them back where they had been before on his stomach.  He began to wring them a little nervously.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Tony reassured him.  He noticed Bruce’s hands wringing from the corner of his eye.  Reflexively, his right hand shot out firmly to grab one of his hands and hold it still, “Stop that.  I said you’re fine.”

“Sorry, anxious tick,” he explained.

“Okay, that’s the first thing I gotta fix.  You keep saying sorry and people are gonna tune out.  Say ‘my bad’.  It’s easier to shrug off.”  Tony looked him in the eye and held his pointed stare, “Go on.”

“Yeah, well, you know, you might not have noticed, but I usually _rather_ people ignore me,” Bruce rolled his eyes.

“Who said that?” Tony asked, whipping his head around to search the room in jest.

The boy gave his friend a smack to the back of the head.  “Whoops.  My bad.”  He gave him another one.  “Myyy bad.”

“Okay okay!” Tony flinched, “I deserved that.”

A sudden cry punctuated the quiet household-- muffled but obviously Rebecca’s.

“Shit,” Tony whispered, shocked, “Is... is he...?” his words were interrupted by the dull, slow _thunk thunk_ of a headboard bumping against the wall.

Bruce felt his ears heat red.  Tonight, really??

The boys were silent for what seemed like ages, but was technically only about forty five seconds before Tony hesitantly spoke up, “A-are they--?”

“Yeah.  They are,” he confirmed, followed by a muffled drawn-out groan from the next room that also seemed to answer the question.

“Oh my God.”  Tony looked mortified, “How am I gonna look her in the eye tomorrow at breakfast?”

“Quit being a bitch and just cover your ears with a pillow or something,” Bruce rolled his eyes.  They were married, of course they had intercourse.  This just happened to be... poor timing.  His nose scrunched and a louder moan accompanied the squeaking of springs.

“Fine,” Tony glared, making to grab his pillow and do exactly that, only to remember that Mrs. Banner had hand-picked that one for him.  He’d need to find something else to block out the noise that didn’t remind him of the two people who were having wild crazy actual real life sex on the other side of the wall, who were also Bruce’s parents he’d just met.  Unravelling the earbuds from his phone he touched the screen three times and whispered for JARVIS to put on a single song repeat of the song he’d last played in the car on the way to JC.  Popping in his headphones, he mouthed a ‘Sweet dreams!’ to the boy to his right in bed.  Thanks to the isolation headphones brought, Tony felt himself drifting off fairly quickly.

Bruce just frowned at him and shook his head.  His mother’s cries grew more and more desperate as the thumping intervals shortened; he stubbornly ignored it like most of the things he overheard in the house, glancing at Tony every once and awhile.  His friend’s eyelids were fluttering and his foot gave a twitch.

_“Ohh Brian...!  Oh Briiian...!”_

Silence followed.  Bruce let out a breath.  He settled in to try and get some sleep himself, eyelids drooping, when the bed started up again.

Bruce groaned.  He looked over at his friend again, who by this point was passed out and sawing logs beside him.  With careful fingers, Bruce plucked one of the earbuds from Tony’s ear.  Tony’s body gave a shiver, causing Bruce to hesitate a moment before coming to the conclusion he wasn’t going to wake.  He shoved the small earpiece into his own canal, thankful for the reprieve.  A moment later the other teen shivered again.  “You brainless idiot,” Bruce mumbled, “that’s why you get under the covers instead of on top of them.”

“Nnnnn...” Tony groaned in response to Bruce’s scolding tone.  He turned and shifted in his sleep, freeing the other earpiece from his own ear as his hands pawed around blindly for something warm.  As soon as they located the warm body next to him, Tony shifted unconsciously closer to the source of heat until he was practically draped over Bruce.

“I ought to push you off the edge...” the teenager mumbled, but didn’t carry through on the threat as Tony snuggled closer.


	6. Chapter 6

At some point during the night, Tony’s eyes drifted open, and Bruce was staring right back at him.  His parents could no longer be heard, and Tony imagined they’d fallen asleep hours ago. Bruce’s eyes were full of innocent curiosity, unblinking.  It was right about then that he was aware of the strong hands on him, one gripping his shirt, the other cupping his cheek tentatively.  He opened his mouth to speak, his sleep-fogged brain still unsure of what exactly he was supposed to be asking in this situation.  He mumbled out a “Hey,” before soft lips captured his own, rolling him onto his back and straddling him, both boys’ bodies an inch away from tipping off the bed.

He tried to ask why, but the other’s stubborn tongue which was normally used for chopping him down to size was currently wrestling his for speaking rights.  Eventually, though questions remained, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything except enjoy the other’s ministrations, gasping in much needed air as the other’s lips left his to tease his neck, tooth and tongue moving across the skin above his jugular.  He bit back a moan, rationality springing to the forefront in one sobering moment to ask, “Bruce, the fuck’re you doing?!”

And in almost typical Bruce Banner fashion, minus the alien situation, he rolled his eyes and smirked, “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

And then he was reaching below Tony’s field of vision to cup his groin.  Tony’s own hardness surprised him, as he hadn’t noticed it up until now, but when Bruce leaned back down to reclaim his lips, he was suddenly very aware of both of them, the lust in his eyes blurring the majestic starscape above them.  He realized in shame, or rather in shame of his shamelessness, that he was kissing back now in excitement of what might come next.  There was a rush of heat and pleasure as Tony pulled his companion flush to his body, and then... he smelled blueberries.  Which, to be honest, kind of killed the mood, as he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

He opened his eyes, having not remembered closing them.  It was brighter in the room than he remembered, and he was now spooning a jumble of sheets and a pillow.  Birds were chirping outside and the stars above him had faded back into a plain white ceiling.  And there was the sound of batter sizzling in a pan, and the scent of blueberries wafting through the household, and above all else Tony suddenly realized with a groan that he wouldn’t be able to make eye contact with _anyone_ at breakfast this morning.

With a sigh, and no mind to even think about what he was just dreaming about any further, he hopped out of bed.  He adjusted the ‘inconvenience’ pushing at his waistband, and making sure his tee shirt would cover the rest, he ignored it as he padded into the Banners’ kitchen.

Rebecca was the first to greet him upon his arrival with a “Good morning, sweetie!”  She came over to give him a little peck on the cheek, causing Tony to wince a little on the inside.  After last night he wasn’t sure he wanted to think about what those lips...  He shuddered, letting it go.

“I was just about to have Bruce go wake you up,” she said as she went back to whisking a bowl of mix.  “The first batch is nearly ready.”

Tony swallowed, resisting the urge to look around for a hidden camera.  His mind absently registered that he needed to use the bathroom in a minute, “Where is he anyways?”

_‘Don’tsayintheshowerdon’tsayintheshowerdon’tsayintheshower...’_ he prayed.

The woman brushed some hair out of her face that had fallen there from her vigorous whisking.  She set down the bowl and picked up the spatula.  “Just out in the living room reading.  He was going to wash up once Brian was out,” she paused in tending the pancakes and smiled, “though I’m sure he’ll trade if you ask nicely.”

Tony let out an almost inaudible sigh of relief, standing up.  “Alright well I’ll be right back then.” 

As he made his way down the hall to the bathroom, Mr. Banner passed him on his left, his damp hair freshly combed and face shaven.  “Anthony,” he regarded with a firm nod.

“Sir,” Tony nodded back.

He hated to notice it, but the man was _glowing_.  Just another reminder of the late night shenanigans Tony had somehow managed to sleep through.  If he wasn’t too well-off to care, he’d be billing them for his therapy.  That being said, at least they were pleasant after last night, as if there was any doubt with Bruce’s mom.  And it was nice to have a mother and father around, in a home setting, even if they weren’t really his.

Shaking it off as he made it to the bathroom door, he let out a leftover yawn, and opened the door to the still humid room.

The shower curtain drew back and Bruce’s head poked out.  The boy squinted at the form that had come in, recognizing it after a moment as Tony.  “Oh, hey, morning,” he greeted, not seeming too alarmed by the breach of privacy.

Tony spun with a yelp, falling backwards and leaning on the sink with his elbows to steady himself, trying to will his heartbeat back to a normal pace.  In all honesty he was lucky he hadn’t pissed himself, “M-morning?!  Jesus, Bruce!  The hell are you doing just sitting in the shower with the water off?”  And immediately, the way his mind was answering him, he wished he hadn’t asked.

The teenager gave an amused snort, going back to soaping his body up with the bar.  “You’ve never heard of a military shower?”  It wouldn’t have surprised him if Tony Stark didn’t know a thing about water conservation.  He finished and put the bar back in its enclave, then reached down to turn the tap back on to rinse off quickly.

Tony’s eyebrow twitched, “I know of them, but I’ve never actually met someone who takes them in person.”  He rolled his eyes.  “I’m all for going green, but put a sign up for people who are used to hearing running water, why don’t you?”

“Well, you could have knocked,” Bruce pointed out matter-of-factly.  He stepped under the spray to rinse his hair.

Another twitch.  Tony didn’t like being in the wrong, “And _you_ could’ve locked the door.”

Bruce let out a laugh that could be heard over the water.  “ _My bad_ ,” he made sure to say, “I’m not used to having company over.”

Tony laughed along, finally letting some of his anxiety go, as he took position in front of the toilet. 

“At least you’re not singing,” he jabbed as he unzipped his fly, pulling down the waistband of his underwear and aiming the stream for the bowl.

Bruce spoke up again.  “If you flush, I will clock you.”

Tony smirked, tucking back in and zipping up again, “Oh?  So I have to wait here til you get out?” He responded, trying to sound as creepy as he could.  In all honesty he’d hoped not, though.  But now the sinister wheels in his head were turning as he grabbed his phone from his pocket.

He silently touch navigated to one of his normally useless SFX apps, glad he hadn’t deleted it.  He knew he’d get Hell for this, but the reaction alone would be worth it ten times over.  Waiting for just the right moment, he stood by the door and tapped the screen, eliciting a crystal clear flushing toilet noise on speakerphone, “Oops.”

“Tony!” Bruce yelled, slamming the water off before it could scald him.  He grabbed the curtain and yanked it open partially to glower at the other teen, who was grinning like a hyena on the other side of the bathroom.  The prankster tapped the screen again to show off his trick.  “You dolt!”  Realizing he’d been had, Bruce grabbed the loofah and lobbed it at his friend’s head.  Tony ducked and scurried out cackling.  Grumbling, Bruce turned the tap back on and resumed rinsing.

After he’d finished his morning routine, he joined his mother and father and Tony at the dining table, fetching himself a glass of milk and a plate.  His father was drinking coffee, his mother a cup of cocoa, and Tony... orange juice.  That brought a twisted smile to his face, giving the other boy a look across the table as he sat.

Tony caught the look, raising his eyebrow and mouthing a “What?” back at his friend.

Bruce stuck the forefinger and pinky of both his hands out, placing his right on top of his left and making a circular gesture with them both; he was hedging his bets that of the little sign language his friend knew, ‘alcohol’ would be one of them.

Tony was mid-sip when his eyes went wide, and he snorted out his drink when it finally clicked.  Leave it to that asshole to remember the screwdrivers.  He’d managed not to do a full spit take, but at the cost of his dignity as he was now practically coughing up a lung, and wiping drips of orange juice from below his nose.

“Tony, honey, are you okay?” Rebecca looked intensely concerned; Bruce was trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Tony wheezed out finally, “It just went down the wrong pipe.”  He finished with a grimace, while signing a big old grammatically flawless ‘fuck you’ back to Bruce.  Even though a middle finger would have been easier, it would’ve been such a shame to have forsaken his personal ‘research’ back in fourth grade and not actually use the proper signing at least once.  Plus he was pretty sure that the Banners would pick up on ‘fuck your own ass’ in gaelic, or at least ask questions.

Bruce grinned surreptitiously and reached forward to put some pancakes on his plate.

Brian spoke up.  “So, Anthony, how is your father anyhow?  Isn’t he typically on his annual business trip this time of year?”  The man set down his coffee cup.

Tony looked down at his plate, remembering why he was so happy to be here in the first place, “Yeah, I mean he goes on a lot of them, but this time every year he’s always out on business.”  He pondered whether he should tell them why or keep that to himself...

“You’re home all alone?” Rebecca asked, the pitch of her voice rising in worry as she clasped both her hands to her chest.

Tony waved a hand dismissively, “My dad comes and goes.  It’s been that way since before mom died.  I mean, I guess it bothers me sometimes, but it’s for the better.”  He shrugged.  He was actually surprised to be defending his father in this situation, but he supposed even families like his looked out for their own.  Plus it would be a cold day in Hell before he ended up in a damn foster home because someone told CPS he wasn’t getting enough hugs.

“He needs to work.  We don’t want to be the kind of people who live off of big piles of money and don’t contribute to society.”

Brian nodded as he took another sip of coffee.  “Well said.  I’m surprised a boy of your age and...” he paused a moment, “status... grasps the benefit of hard work and the obligation a man has to serving his fellow man.”

Rebecca looked like she wanted to say something, but she held her tongue and put her hands down in her lap.

“Well I keep good company.  Bruce is a great influence, for example,” he said with a winning smile.  Only he and Bruce knew that he was simultaneously texting a mental tally of Brownie Points to the other teen under the table.

Bruce wet his lips anxiously, glancing away at having been mentioned.   _‘Stop milking it, would you?’_ he texted back before shoving his phone deeper into his pocket and shoving more buttery pancake into his mouth.

His father’s chest puffed out if just a little.  “My son is learning the value of keeping his nose to the grindstone; I’m proud of him in that regard.”

Tony hummed in neutrality, biting back a reaction to the grindstone comment.  Brian’s boy had ground his fair share of noses, for sure.

“He’s a _good_ boy,” Rebecca added to her husband’s statement.  “There’s _plenty_ to be proud of.”

Tony nodded in agreement.  “Nowadays, it’s amazing when someone our age isn’t out doing drugs or breaking and entering,” he scoffed.  He probably sounded like his grandpa, and to this he mentally rolled his eyes.  “Sometimes I feel like Bruce and I are some of the only ones left with half a brain to share, let alone standards.”

“With proper discipline comes principles of conduct and a respect for authority,” the man said conclusively.  The statement seemed to draw silence from both wife and son.  Tony didn’t hear the whole thing, but he got the gist of it.  His focus was on the phone vibrating in his lap, a text from Bruce.  He normally would have texted Bruce back to tell him to relax, but Mr. Banner’s last statement had struck a nerve in him.

Tony took a sip of his orange juice as calmly as he could muster,

“You present a good point, but it doesn’t really explain away how I was able to get to this point in life with even nearly as well developed a moral compass as your son, considering the discrepancies in how both he and I were raised.  In fact, I’m sure your research would point out that the ‘annual business trip’ my father takes falls on or around the week of my mother’s hospitalization and subsequent death.  One would say I turned out _exceptionally_ well for a child who had to deal with that memory _alone_ for eleven consecutive years without any parental guidance or, _God forbid_ , discipline.”

That’s how Tony had wanted to respond.  Instead he hummed another neutral sounding noise into his cup, before saying, “I guess I’m one of the lucky ones then,” as if it were a cheesy quip at one of his father’s rare upper crust dinner parties.

Rebecca seemed unwilling to let breakfast end on such a somber note.  “I’d say Bruce is lucky as well, to have met you, Tony.  I haven’t seen him so happy in years.”  She smiled and placed her hand over the teen’s.  “You’re welcome back any time.”

It was as if Bruce and Tony’s eyes both snapped to the same place at the same time.  Brian’s lips pursed in a less-than-pleased manner, but he gave a short confirming nod.  “Under the condition it does not become a distraction to my son’s workload.”

On the other side of the table, Bruce felt his heart doing backflips.  It was genuinely rare that his mother came out on top in an argument between her and his father.  That he had backed down from yesterday... he could scarcely believe it.  Bruce swallowed his bite of pancake.  “I understand,” he said, aware of how big of a compromise had been made on his behalf.

“Absolutely.  Thanks Mr. Banner, Mrs. Banner,” Tony added on, still in shock.   _‘Score one for pillow talk, I guess...’_ he thought, as he ingested another forkful of blueberry pancake, also delicious.  He wondered if there was any recipe worth noting that Bruce or his mother were known for messing up, or even doing a mediocre job with.  He gave Bruce’s parents a look of appreciation, but cringed away, unnoticed.   _‘Ugh, still too soon...’_ he thought, suppressing a shiver.

“That being said, he has a lot to catch up on today,” the man said, finishing off his coffee.  It was a passive-aggressive suggestion that Tony depart upon the conclusion of breakfast.

“I told him,” Bruce made sure to put in.

“You got it, sir,” Tony said, texting Bruce the new tally.  He saw no real benefit from pushing this further, not when he’d already gotten more from this than he’d expected, “But I did want to ask, if he’s all caught up by Sunday,” Tony paused for a second.  This was important to him, moreso even than he’d made known to his friend, so he couldn’t screw up the delivery, “Maybe Bruce could hang out at my place for a few hours?”

Bruce already knew he could catch up by then (Hell, he’d even started before breakfast and if things were looking tight, he could easily stay up later on Saturday to ensure completion), but he chose to remain silent on that matter.

“That would be acceptable,” Brian said, now standing to take his cup to the sink.  He then excused himself from the room.

_‘You didn’t have to ask that.’_ Bruce texted back his friend.  He’d been visiting Tony without permission before, but he supposed it was good form after the new agreement had been struck.  He stacked his fork and knife on his plate and went to put them in the sink as well before turning back towards his bedroom.  “Thanks for breakfast, Mom,” he made a detour to kiss her temple on the way there.  May as well get back to it.

_‘It didn’t do any damage, chill.  BTW your mom is awesome.  It is now scientific fact.’_ Tony texted back, before turning to Bruce’s mother, “Yeah, thanks, Mrs. Banner, for everything.”  He smiled warmly.

“You’re very welcome, Tony, it’s been wonderful having you over,” Rebecca crooned.  “And please, call me ‘Mom’.”

Tony froze.  The sentiment of that statement did not escape him.  “Okay,” he said hesitantly, as if he was trying it on for size, “...M-mom.”  And his face cracked a smile involuntarily, not completely happy, but not entirely sorrowful either.

“Here, dear, have another pancake,” the woman insisted, placing another of the flat pastries onto Tony’s plate.

“As long as you’re not just fattening me up to roast on Thanksgiving,” Tony quipped.

Rebecca laughed.  “Oh my.  I think we _usually_ have spiral ham.”

“Usually?” Tony grinned, “I hope the most unusual it gets is stuffed quail.”

“I’ll be sure to put it on the menu,” she smiled, standing to start cleaning the dishes before the leftover syrup dried to the plates.

“As soon as I finish, I’ll help you with the dishes, just so you know that at least _one_ of us is man enough to fall back and help out,” Tony teased, before shoving another savory forkful into his mouth.  This beat the Hell out of pop tarts.

\--

Tony’d barely been home an hour, and there was really nothing for him to do that could keep his interest.  This didn’t bode well, because Tony had a list of things that he didn’t want to think about, and zero distractions.  Well, one distraction, but it wasn’t even noon yet, and that seemed like a bit too early to start getting wasted.  He told himself that those kinds of things needed to stop, but the truth was he didn’t feel strong enough on his own.  Sighing deeply, he figured he might as well get one of the traditions out of the way.  He shuffled into the kitchen, opening the fridge, and pawing around in the far back, fingers finally grazing the corner of a small rectangular shape.  Pulling his hand back, he procured the half full pack of cigarettes.  Sighing, he shut the door and grabbed the first dirty food container from the sink that could pass as an ashtray.  He swung by the bathroom to get the air freshener spray can, and fondled his pocket for the familiar weight of his zippo lighter.

Climbing the ladder into the attic, he sat down among the boxes of the former possessions of the late Maria Stark.  He crossed his legs indian style, then pulled the cigarette from its pack, staring at it.  He lit at least one every day that he was home alone with his mother’s memory.  They were like the opposite of birthday candles to him, in that that each one lit and extinguished was meant to remind him of another year lost.

He flipped open his zippo and lit the cigarette perched between his lips, inhaling deeply to ensure he wouldn’t have to light it again.  He absently noted that he didn’t cough on the first drag this time.  He wasn’t sure if it was good or bad that he was getting used to this.  He was about to exhale when his cell phone rang, causing him to cough.  It was a simple default MIDI ringtone, which told him exactly who it was without looking.  Every contact in his phone had a personal ringtone.  And there was only one ‘stranger’ that would call him on a Saturday morning, especially at this time of the year.  He tapped the screen and put the phone to his ear with his free hand.

“Hey Pepper,” Tony choked out, followed by a few shallow coughs, “What’s up?”  It was an empty question; he knew exactly why she was calling.

The girl on the other end narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the coughing she heard through the receiver; though perhaps Tony sounded better than she might have expected.  He wasn’t slurring anyhow.  She remained straight-forward.  “Hey Tony, I’m just calling to check up on you.”

“Coincidence.  I’m just picking up to tell you I’m fine,” Tony retorted, voice somewhere in-between charming and snide.

Pepper’s lips pulled into a thin line.  “It’s exactly that kind of response that makes me think otherwise,” she stated, an unspoken assertion she wouldn’t give up so easily.

Tony’s eyebrows drew together in annoyance.  “And it’s exactly this kind of mothering and smothering that pushed me away the first time,” he bit back without thinking.

Now her free hand came to rest of her hip.  “Honestly, you think I care about that?” she snapped before softening.  “I care about _you_ , Tony; I want to make sure you’re doing alright.”  Her voice almost wavered but she kept it firm.

Tony slammed his fist on the attic floor, nearly burning himself with his cigarette in the process.  “Why does everyone have to fucking worry about me?!  You don’t see me calling you every time I hear you’ve broken a nail or something!”

Pepper released a sigh.  She’d expected this conversation wouldn’t go over well; yet she’d made the call anyway.  “Tony...”

“Guess what?  I’m still alive.  I’m talking to you right now, if you hadn’t noticed,” Tony interrupted, “Which is more than I can say for her.”

Pepper’s eyes lowered to look at the ground.  “I just wish you’d stop and think about what you were doing.  I know, that’s a tall order for you, _thinking_ ,” she interjected sarcastically, “but how would she feel if she saw you right now?”

Tony’s response stopped dead on the sharpest part of his tongue. 

_‘Damn this woman, always making sense...’_

“Yeah, I know...” Tony regretfully conceded, “I just...” He chose to take another drag before finishing.  Once he’d exhaled, he had his thoughts mostly in order.  “Listen. I’m glad you care, and I can’t make you stop, it’s just...” he swallowed, “I just don’t like to be reminded how bad it is.”  He took another pull from his cigarette, holding in a breath, before hissing out, “And it’s not the only thing bothering me right now.  I’ve got other shit that needs sorting, and I don’t have the mind to think about it all this weekend.”  Bruce came to mind, though the image was not of the one he’d built a friendship with.  Tony shook the image away, cringing.

Pepper’s eyebrows drew down; this was different.  “Oh?”

“Hm, you always were the nosy one,” Tony chuckled.

“I’m not ‘nosy’, I just like to know what’s going on.  Speaking of which...” she readjusted her grip on her phone, deciding to let it go for now, “the pep rally is coming up.  You were going to come, right?”  The way she said it made it sound more like an expectation than a suggestion.

“But all my exes have dates this year...” Tony teased, both of them knowing he only really had one.  And she was present in the call, “How is ol’ Happy doing, anyways?  Heard he got a concussion at football camp over the summer.”

“He’s recovered just fine, thankyouverymuch, and at least he doesn’t yell at me when I ask if he’s ‘doing alright’,” she lifted an eyebrow.

“Curious.  With a name like Happy, you would think asking how he is would get redundant after a while,” Tony muttered.

“Oh, can it, Tony,” she rolled her eyes; she didn’t need to listen to her ex’s jealousy about her current boyfriend.  “If you have to bring someone, why don’t you bring _your_ new boyfriend?”

Tony coughed out a lungful of smoke after inhaling sharply in shock, “ _My what?_ ”

The girl had a good laugh at Tony’s expense.  “Sorry, I heard you two had Halloween movie night and I just assumed,” she continued to tease.

“That I was plowing his ass?” Tony finished for her.

Pepper snerked, and loudly.  “Orrr the other way around.”

Tony’s eyes went wide, “Oh fuck no.  This ass is for sitting, touching, and light groping only.”

“Oooookay,” Pepper said, as if that were too much information.

“Save it, Sister Virginia.  You’ve done two out of three already.”  Tony’s smirk was audible in his words, “And really, how the Hell did you hear about our Halloween-a-thon?  Bruce doesn’t just go off shouting his evening plans from the rooftops.”

“Believe it or not, he does occasionally talk to people _other_ than you,” she said pragmatically.  “He was in the treasurer’s office and we chatted awhile.”

“Really?” Tony responded with a huff, “I am going to have to talk some sense into him post-haste!  Some slut could just up and snatch him away, and leave me with nothing to warm my bed at night but the electric blanket.”  Tony sighed wistfully.  He paused a moment after delivery of the joke, wetting his lips and acting casual.  “What did, uh... you two talk about?”

Pepper folded one arm across her chest.  “It’s rude to ask about other people’s conversations, Tony.  We just had a chat.”  And to think, he had tried to accuse her of being nosy.

“I knew it!  You were talking about me!” Tony shouted triumphantly, “Must’ve been a lengthy chat,” Tony added, putting a slight emphasis on ‘lengthy’.

Her delivery was deadpan.  “Not particularly.”

“Are you _sure_ you were talking about me?”

Pepper’s lips deformed with a smile, seeing through her ex’s attempts to pry the info out of her.  “I’m glad you’re feeling a bit better, Tony.  I have to get ready for practice.  Hope to see you and Bruce at the game.”

Almost immediately after she hung up, Pepper’s phone vibrated three times, showing three new messages.

_‘You hung up on me... I’ll never forgive you.  Ever.‘_

_‘BTW I’ll ask Bruce about the pep rally.  The bonfire might at least make for some interesting fatalities, knowing him.’_

_‘I make no promises.  XOXO Tony.  P.S: Still totally not forgiving you.’_

Pepper shook her head; she never understood why Tony couldn’t combine his thoughts into a single message instead of spamming her inbox with multiples.   _‘I’m sure if you ask, he’ll come.  XOXO.’_

Tony’s cigarette had long since burnt down to the filter by now, just a stub sitting between his fingers with a long tip of undisturbed ash at the end.  His attention was on Pepper’s text.  He didn’t understand why, but it felt good to read that, and believe it.  He resisted the urge to text Bruce immediately and test this hypothesis out.  Bruce was one of those things he was trying not to worry about right now.

Sighing, he gathered up his things.  He’d brave his mom’s storage boxes later that night, when he had some liquid courage in his system.  His phone buzzed, it was a text from Bruce this time.  He sighed and figured maybe a nap was in order.  If it was important, Bruce knew to call.  He didn’t want to think about his friend right now, not unless he was coming over.  But he wasn’t, and as much as he missed his friend already, Tony wasn’t about to trust his imagination so soon after last night.

\--

As soon as Tony had gone, Bruce dedicated himself to the task of his studies.  His focus wasn’t perfect; even with numerous cups of tea, his mind kept occasionally drifting back to last night or the morning before to something Tony had either done or said that made him smile.  Which wasn’t to say he wasn’t managing to get things done.  It was just after noon and he’d completed two of his longer reading assignments and one problem set.  So he’d actually place himself a bit ahead of schedule.

He slipped his phone out and sent his friend a progress update.

A couple hours later he decided to let himself take a break and go for a walk, if for no other reason than he didn’t want to get a visual migraine like _last_ Saturday when he’d put in six hours straight.  As he strolled the neighborhood, he couldn’t help but wonder what Tony was up to-- no doubt something ‘fun and exciting’ (and potentially dangerous) that he’d brag about when he saw him on Sunday.  Bruce chuckled in spite of himself.  As important to him as it was that he get all his work done, he admitted to himself that he kind of wished he could be hanging out with Tony right now.

It wasn’t that long to wait.  He wondered then if there was anything he should bring tomorrow.  Hadn’t Tony mentioned a pool or something?  Maybe he ought to call him up and ask.

\--

Tony wasn’t sure how it had come to this.  Sure it was a common time-killer for people his age, and he didn’t need to have analysed the lyrics to ‘Longview’ to be aware of that either.  Still, as he lay back on his living room sofa stroking himself to softcore pay-per-view (and wishing he hadn’t been too freaked out by Bruce’s joke to actually collect and pack his dirty magazines with the rest of his things), he couldn’t help but be aware of one annoying little issue.

He wasn’t interested in the girls on the screen.  Not even in the slightest.  And it was making the act of getting off very frustrating.  The girl onscreen was blonde, and she looked like she’d auditioned with a paper bag over her head.  Tony didn’t feel bad for thinking it, because honestly, the whole foundation of porn was aesthetics.  It was annoying to Tony, and the fact that the camera kept panning down, even in the beginning shots proved that she wasn’t chosen for her dental work.  Her eyes were an unnatural blue which was obviously achieved through colored contacts.

_‘She went pretty heavy on the jizz-proof makeup too,’_ Tony thought disdainfully, _‘Looks more like a customer at a carnival’s face painting booth than an ‘actress’ if you ask me.’_

And as the camera moved down slowly, Tony saw a pair of impractical-for-everything-except-porn sized breasts, probably the biggest selling point on the woman, pun intended.  Panning lower, her lap was blocked by an over-excited redhead, going to town, so to speak.  She was rather unremarkable in the face herself, another plain face in crappy prom makeup.  She pulled away for a second to say something bubbly and vacuous like “Mmm... yummy!” to which Tony would undoubtedly roll his eyes (honestly, George Lucas wrote better dialogue than most porn films, which Tony found very sad).  That was when he took notice of the girl’s lips.

_‘Well no fucking wonder she’s going down on a chick; Hell, Bruce has got better lips than that!’_

With that evil little thought making his way to the forefront of his mind, Tony let go of himself as if he were on fire.  He wanted to take it back.  He wanted to laugh it off as some hilarious joke of a misthought.  He wanted to tell himself it was just a result of stress and that he was making a big deal of a normal comparison between two people.  He would have loved to have done any of those things, but he knew he’d be kidding himself.

This was insane.  But his hormone-fogged brain reasoned that this was something best to be attacked head-on and snuffed out before it became too big.  He closed his eyes and tried to conjure an image.  It wasn’t like the big guy would ever find out, right?  Right.  He started to stroke himself, unable to find it in him to be upset at how much easier this was now that he was thinking of his best friend.  Lust now, regret later.  And as if the fates had a sitcom-esque sense of timing, his phone rang.  It was Bruce’s ringtone.  He let it go to voicemail.  He’d forgotten he hadn’t checked his voicemails since he broke his last phone.

\--

Bruce waited patiently as the phone rang, expecting Tony to pick up at any moment.  He was a little surprised when he didn’t get him; he would have simply left a voicemail to ask his questions and let Tony get back to him if it weren’t for the fact the other teen’s inbox was apparently full.  Figured.  His ‘fanclub’ was likely to blame.  Frowning, he hit redial.

But again it rang until it ran out.  “Oh come on,” Bruce grumbled and rolled his eyes.  “You said you _always_ answer.”  He shook his head.  Tony was probably in the bathroom or something; he’d give him a couple minutes and try again.

\--

When the real Bruce called again, he managed to ignore it a second time, his pace quickening. He needed this now; he wasn’t going to stop for a phone call.

Tony panted heavily, slowing down, making his strokes gentler, more fluid, switching hands temporarily to lick his thumb and forefingers.  Noticing how much hotter the room felt now, he quickly took off his shirt, before deciding to just eighty-six his clothes all-together.  He was glad that his dad had held off on the leather sofa.  He closed his eyes, re-wetting his fingers, and pictured the Bruce from last night’s dream.  He felt a hand trace over his scar, curious, but restrained.  Careful, intrigued, but never afraid.  In the back of his mind he knew it was his own hand, but it had moved the same as Bruce’s would have, and in his fevered brain he couldn’t tell the difference.

At least the big guy had stopped calling him.  He could concentrate on finishing and...

His phone rang a third time and Tony groaned in defeat, picking it up with his free hand, pausing mid-stroke with the other.  Panting lightly, his brow scrunched up as he answered, “What’s up, Bruce?”

There he was.  “Hey,” Bruce responded.  “I was just wondering if there was anything I should bring with me tomorrow.”

“Uhhh... besides the usual?  Umm...”  In spite of himself, he found his other hand had gone back to fondling himself, slowly stroking, almost involuntarily at the thought of the other teen on the line.  Tony’s eyes drifted closed, _‘to think,’_ he told himself.

On Bruce’s side, the line had gone quiet.  Tony still seemed to be thinking, so Bruce waited for an answer.  He let out a strained sigh.

“Nothing’s coming to mind.  Anything you wanted to bring?”  A woman from the television groaned just loud enough for Tony to remember he’d left it on.  He hit the mute button on the remote with a silent curse.  His hand fell off to his side.

Bruce’s eyebrows both lifted.  “Is this a bad time?” he ventured.

Tony’s breath caught in his throat.  Attempting to even out his breath he came up with a quick lie and responded.

“Nah, you just caught me off the treadmill.  I forgot I had the TV on.  It’s some weird ass cult flick about sex and anarchy and... polar bears or some shit.”

The latter he might have bought, if it hadn’t been preceded by the former.  Bruce pushed up his glasses with the same hand that was currently holding the phone to his ear.  “I thought you weren’t supposed to engage in strenuous exercise with your condition.”

Tony rolled his eyes, thanking God Bruce wasn’t just outright calling bullshit.  This he could dispute, “I do a little regular cardio in short sets to try and keep the heart muscles as functional as possible.  No big deal.  Sex burns more calories than that.  The heck did you think I did at physical therapy?” Tony finished with a smirk.

It was an awfully defensive answer to a straight-forward question, but Bruce decided to let it slide.  “Well, if there’s nothing, then I guess I’ll let you get back to it.”

“Wait, while you’re on,” Tony sighed, pushing back the follow-ups his dirty mind was suggesting, “Uhh, are you going to the pep rally bonfire thingy?  Like, with me?  I mean.  Did you wanna co--,” Tony cursed silently once again, “We should... go together, it’ll be fun.”

Bruce’s brow wrinkled at the invitation from out-of-left-field.  He’d have to skip JC to go, plus he wasn’t big on school events, especially not big ones like the game.  “You mean next Friday?  I hadn’t planned to,” he answered honestly.

“We can pack our own food, find an isolated hill, look down on people from a distance.  Plus there’s always the chance someone could light themselves on the bonfire,” Tony attempted to entice his friend.

“I don’t know...” Bruce rubbed the back of his neck.

“Pepper asked me to come.  And when a girl asks you something it means ‘you better do it, or else I’ll make your life Hell’; and I just figured it’d be more fun with you there,” Tony confessed. “I’d really like you to come.  I’m inviting you personally, and I’ll be totally passing Pepper’s Hell onto you if you don’t.”

“You make it sound like I don’t have much option,” Bruce said, but there was a small smile turning the corners of his lips.  He relented.  “I guess you can drag me along if it means that much to you.”

“Cool,” Tony responded, trying not to give the size of his smile away.

“I’m going to get back to my books,” Bruce informed his friend.  He was about to say goodbye when he remembered, “Oh, did you mention something about swimming?  Tomorrow?”

“Oh right, the jacuzzi!” Tony snapped his fingers; he had forgotten too.  “Bring an extra towel just in case,” he advised, before adding, “...and bubble bath mix if you have any.”  Tony snickered to himself, remembering one of the pool parties he’d seen in a music video.  It was weird, thinking back, that he’d never tried it out himself.  Then again, what with his scar, he avoided most pool parties, and filling a pool with suds all on your lonesome wasn’t really as fun as it could be.

The other teen lifted an eyebrow.  “I don’t think I do, and I don’t think you’re serious.  But I _could_ check my mom’s bath supplies,” he goaded ruthlessly.

“Oh God...” Tony’s whole body shuddered, “Speaking of, did she kiss you on the cheek this morning too?  It’s like she knows we know.”

“I’m sure,” he chuckled sarcastically.  “Later, Tony.”

“Later Bruce-y.” Tony echoed back in the same tone of voice, hitting the end button, and leering down at the most confused erection he’d ever seen in his life.  And he’d just invited the likely cause of said erection to come over and take a dip in his hot tub on one of the most depressing days of the year.

_‘Fuck.  My.  Life.’_


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Heal Over' by KT Tunstall (Cover) - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b-SnU9zMDcc

Normally Bruce might have allowed himself to sleep in a little on a Sunday and catch up on some much needed rest, but he woke at his usual time to dig back in where he’d left off the night prior.  By one o’clock he’d completed his 7-page essay on the ties between misogyny and the mental health system during the Victorian era, which was approximately three hours before he’d projected, and upon printing the paper and stapling the corner (being sure to attach the MLA format reference page to the back), he pulled out his phone and sent Tony one of his true-to-form succinct texts:

_‘Done.  Be there in twenty.’_

It didn’t really convey the excitement he felt on the inside, but he didn’t make a habit of being quite as transparent as his friend was.

Gathering a few things quickly into his backpack, Bruce got a kiss from his mom, told his father where he was off to, and hopped on his moped to ride over.

When the doorbell rang, Tony already had his hand on the door. Turning the knob and swinging it open, he called Bruce inside.  “You know the drill,” he pointed to the line of shoes against the wall, before turning to lead Bruce back to the living room.  It had almost become second nature after a while.

Bruce removed his loafers and set them in the designated area, proceeding to make himself comfortable in his friend’s abode.  He plopped into one of the couches, putting up his feet.  “You have no idea how glad I am to be caught up,” he said with the smallest of smiles.

Tony was trying not to think of _which_ couch Bruce was sitting on, “Well I’ve done everything but gym and extra credit assignments in advance, so yeah, I don’t have any idea at all...” Tony grinned smugly, before adding, “But great job though!”  He shot Bruce a thumbs up.

Bruce ignored Tony’s obligatory bragging and took the compliment.  “Yeah, thanks,” the teenager shut his eyes and tilted his head back, running his fingers through his hair.  That he was looking forward to the R&R ahead was an understatement, but for now it was enough of a relief to just be sitting down doing _nothing_ in the company of his friend.

“You do know I just like giving you a hard time, right?” Tony asked, trying to look away from his companion’s exposed neck... the adam’s apple bobbing slightly with every sigh, the five o’clock shadow starting to grow its way in, proving that Bruce’s primary focus since his last shave was getting all his schoolwork done in time to be here right now.  It was flattering, in some ways, if you noticed these things.  Though really all Tony felt was that he needed to stop sizing up his best friend’s neck like he was a freaking vampire or something.

Bruce’s eyes cracked back open to look at Tony.  “No different than anyone else,” he chuckled.

Tony shared the laugh with him, “Just checking to make sure you haven’t started taking it personally again.”

“Mm,” Bruce vocalized with a nod, eyes shutting again.

Tony’s eyes lit up suddenly, as if remembering something, “You haven’t met Smoke or Iron Man yet.  Come down to the basement with me, I’ll introduce you,” he told Bruce.

“Oh God.  What in the Hell are you going on about now?” he tried to sound condescending, like he wasn’t interested in seeing more of Tony’s toys, but it didn’t manage to come out that way.

“Just follow me, I’ll show you.  They’re too much and too heavy to move all on my own anyways.”

“Do I have to?” Bruce pretended to complain as he moved to put his feet underneath him and stand.

“Don’t be such a baby,” Tony scolded.  “I can rub them afterwards if standing is killing you _that_ much,” he added in a patronizing tone.

Bruce merely lifted an eyebrow and tucked that little tidbit away.  He followed Tony down the stairs, and into a side room.

In contrast to the rest of his home, this particular room in the basement was very dated.  The carpeting was an inelegant ruddy-colored shag, the furniture looked like it came straight out of a 1960s pawn shop, a few vinyl records were preserved in cases hanging on the soundproofed walls.  There was even a lava lamp (not running) chilling on a folding TV dinner table.  It stood next to a beanbag chair facing an old cathode ray tube television set, which couldn’t have been more than 18”.  Tony gestured fondly to the musical instruments and amplifiers sitting pretty at the far wall.  “My babies,” he said with all the fondness of a real father.

Bruce stopped to take it all in, glancing around.  It was quite the room.  He wondered absently who else Tony had brought down here in the past.  If any of his ‘fanclub’ ever earned a backstage admittance to the ‘Stark Rock Den’.  In spite of himself, he smirked.  Whether he was the tenth or the hundredth to come down here, it was still pretty cool.

Tony picked up his electric guitar, “This one’s Smoke.  He’s a Fender Stratocaster.”  He ran his fingers over the jet black surface fondly before holding it up to show his friend.

Bruce was no expert on musical instruments, but he noted it didn’t look too expensive, at least by guitar standards.  It had a maple fretboard with a 6-in-line headstock and chrome hardware.  Definitely something he could see the hard-rock-loving teen being into.

After another quick turn to make sure Bruce had gotten a good look, Tony put it back on its stand, this time grabbing the bass guitar stationed beside it.  “And this is Iron Man.  Gibson, Epiphone.”  It was a glossy red four-string.

“So... you name your guitars after songs?” he theorized astutely, re-adjusting the position of his glasses on his nose.

“I like to name my babies after their first words,” Tony grinned, absently plucking at the top string of the bass currently in his hands.

Bruce folded his arms and leaned back on a hip.  He knew what was coming next.  “Well, get on with it,” he said with an offhanded gesture, “Show off.  I know you want to.”

Tony feigned modesty, hand to chest like a southern belle, “Oh, what, me?”  If he could have forced a blush he would have, “I couldn’t possibly. I’d be too embarrassed...”

Bruce lowered his chin to give Tony a look over his glasses that said ‘I’m not buying it’.

“Don’t give me that look.  What do I look like to you; some kind of performing monkey?” Tony responded with a forced look of distaste.

“I just assumed there was some reason you brought me down here,” Bruce shrugged.  He found himself a place to sit in a nearby armchair, crossing an ankle over a knee and making it clear he wasn’t going to move until he’d at very least gotten a sample of his friend’s musical talent (or lack thereof, in the case it turned out to all be a ruse).

“Well if you insist,” Tony continued his little modesty act, regardless of whether Bruce was buying into it or not, “I _guess_ I could play a few notes.”  He put ‘Iron Man’ Back where the rest were on the rack.  He was tempted to just play a quick acoustic cover, but part of him couldn’t resist the temptation of showing off.  Retrieving ‘Smoke’ and plugging her in, he did a quick amp check before giving a mirthful glance to his looping pedal.  He paused to give Bruce a sly look, “I’m gonna let you guess this one.”

He tapped record on the pedal and laid down a funky, choppy bass line, fingers of his right hand strumming over the cords with hardly any thought.  He’d played this for himself quite a few times before today, for sure; it was one he knew he wouldn’t screw up.  By now it was practically muscle memory taking over.  After about thirty seconds, he tapped the pedal once more, causing the section he’d just played to loop over the speakers as he overdubbed the main melody of the ‘Mission: Impossible’ theme.  He could see the moment it clicked in Bruce’s head exactly what he was listening to, and that was about when he hit the pedal again and played the rhythm guitar over the loop, with a smug sort of smirk twisting his features.  He finished abruptly after about three or four minutes of the instrumental, tapping the pedal one last time to cancel the loop.

It was funny to watch Tony groove as he played-- the way he would bend his knees and angle his body backward each time he pinched the higher spectrum, then go back to thrumming and bobbing his head, working the pedal with his foot.  He was actually quite good; better than Bruce had expected.  The boy surreptitiously slid his fingers over his mouth to hide the smile that was attempting to work its way to the surface, not wanting to seem _too_ impressed too soon.  “Cute.  Got anything else?”  It was a clandestine way of asking for an encore.

Tony tilted his head to the side, thinking, “Hmm... I dunno.”

Then snapping his fingers in realization, he put ‘Smoke’ back on the rack and went to retrieve his trusty six-string acoustic.  “This is Layla, by the way.”  Tony checked the tuning out of habit, before correcting, “That’s her name, not the song.  Song’s ‘Heal Over’.”  He sat down indian style with the six string cradled in his lap, and tried not to notice how expectantly his guest was watching him.

Tony swallowed and strummed through the first few bars, unsure of whether he should be singing along.  He wasn’t really that comfortable with singing, at least not seriously.  He liked belting out lyrics to a rock song in his car with the top down, but that was different.  He wasn’t stealing attention now, he had Bruce’s already.  The only reason he felt compelled to sing along was because he liked the lyrics, and in reality he probably would have forgotten where to end the song if he didn’t.

Closing his eyes, he sang the first line, 

“It isn’t very difficult to see why  
you are the way you are.  
Doesn’t take a genius to realize,  
that sometimes life is hard.  
It’s gonna take time,  
but you’ll just have to wait.  
You’re gonna be fine...  
But in the meantime,”

Bruce was surprised when Tony started singing, which was to say he was pleasantly surprised.  It was a soft melody and the other teen’s voice went well with it, rising and falling and holding the long notes.  He leaned his elbows out onto his knees, listening attentively.

“Come over here, baby.  
Let me wipe your tears away.  
Come a little nearer, baby,  
cuz’ you’ll heal over, heal over,  
heal over someday.”

Tony inhaled softly after the first chorus and fought back his (for once, genuine) embarrassment. He tried to put most of his focus on the chords he was playing, chancing a glance up towards his friend to assess the damage only once before picking up at the second verse,

“And I don’t wanna hear you tell yourself,  
that these feelings are in the past.  
No, it doesn’t mean they’re off the shelf,  
because pain was built to last.  
Everybody sails alone,  
But baby we can travel side by side.  
Even if you fail,”

Tony cringed, almost unnoticeably, hoping he’d hit that note properly,

“You know that no one really minds.”

Bruce blinked a couple of times.  He’d been primarily focused on the tune at first, but gradually he was becoming more and more aware of the lyrics as Tony sang them.  If he didn’t know any better, he’d say his friend was singing _to_ him, rather than for him.  But that couldn’t be.  Tony wouldn’t.  Bruce clasped his hands together, rubbing them together absently as he felt emotion stirring inside his chest.  He tried to push it down, but Tony’s voice brought it swelling back up.

“Come over here, baby.  
Let me wipe your tears away.  
Come a little nearer, baby,  
cuz you’ll heal over, heal over,  
heal over someday.”

Tony transitioned into the bridge with an E minor chord, noting absently that his left had was getting sore, but not wanting to stop until he’d finished the song,

“Don’t hold on, but don’t let go.  
I know it’s so hard.  
You’ve got to try to trust yourself.  
I know it’s so hard,  
so hard...”

He held the last note until it almost hurt, before singing the chorus once more.  His eyes were closed, his fingers aching, his self-awareness at its peak, and he wasn’t lacking in feeling for any of it.  Keeping his pacing steady to the end, he finished with a final outro chord, and opened his eyes.  He looked up at his audience of one, and felt insanely vulnerable, his face sporting a slight blush.  Bruce hadn’t said anything yet, and he found it made him nervous.

“What?” he asked, disposition an amalgam of shy, curious and defensive.

Bruce was still collecting himself, trying to sort through the tangle of his thoughts and feelings.  “That... wasn’t what I was expecting,” he said, and it was the honest truth.  He hadn’t expected to be so thoroughly moved, least of all by his superficial friend.  That song had opened him up, made him feel practically undone, but for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he felt _good_ about it.  He paused a moment before adding with a small smile, “You know, you can be really charming, when you try.”

Tony’s face had fallen initially at Bruce’s first statement, but he was almost instantly brought back up at his second.  Though the other’s delivery, and choice of wording was doing more than flattering him.

“Yeah?” Tony finally managed to respond, still a little too shocked by his reception to ease back into gloating.

Bruce nodded.  “Yeah, but don’t let it go to your head,” he smirked.

“Yeah,” Tony responded (most articulately), looking to the floor, “But you liked it though?  Really?” 

“Yeah, it was good, you’ve got a reasonable amount of talent,” Bruce complimented with a chuckle, amused by his friend’s insecurity, who by now he would have expected to see jump up on a table and start taking several bows, holding out his arms to receive a bouquet.  An eyebrow lifted on Bruce’s head.  “Would you really have played it if you thought I wouldn’t like it?” he posed.  He was fairly certain Tony had known he would like it and that was why he had chosen it.  Part of him was actually tempted to ask his friend if he had meant it-- the words to the song, that was.  But he didn’t.

“You asked me to play,” Tony shrugged, no emphasis in his words.  “It’s a good song.  Reminded me of...”  He stopped short, realizing then exactly why he’d picked that song, a guilty look coming over his face.  “It’s close to home I guess.  But I mean it’s only cuz you asked,” he insisted, averting his gaze again.

“Right, you brought me down here, I figured you wanted to, so I asked.  Why else would you...” Bruce trailed off, his eyebrows drawing down then; he couldn’t help but notice his friend’s current affect, the way he was sitting, avoiding eye-contact.  “Oh wow,” he realized aloud with some amount of surprise.  “You were serious.  About being embarrassed.”  He’d thought Tony was joking.  A laugh started to build in his chest.

“Shut up,” Tony’s face flushed, “Half serious.   _Half._  More like twenty five percent, or fifteen.  Fifteen is my final offer.”

The other teen’s quick retort kind of said it all.  “You’re sure about that?” he challenged.  “I’m pretty sure it was more like eighty-five.  Maybe even ninety.”

“If I were you, I’d be less worried about exact percentages, and more worried about the fact that I just called another dude _charming_ , Cinderella.”

Bruce laughed at the obvious deflection.  He’d only been stating his friend could be more than the presumptuous exterior he typically wore, even if it only lasted a moment.  But Tony would take it the wrong way.  Bruce shook his head.  “Is there a word you would have preferred?”

“You’re not too enamored with me to look one up are you?” Tony teased back.

“I don’t know, where do you keep your Merriam-Webster?”

“Hmm...  Last I checked it was in my desk drawer under all of your love letters,” Tony responded, forefinger and thumb stroking his chin as if he were actually thinking about it.

Charming Tony had left the building.  Now he was talking to rude, thinks-he’s-so-funny Tony.  But two could play at that game.  “Alright, next question.  Where’s your pool?” Bruce asked.

Tony smiled, secretly glad the other teen had backed down and changed the subject, “Well, that’d be on the ground floor, down the hall, towards the back of the house.”  Neither he nor his father had wanted its existence to be easily discovered.  Nice things attracted lots of not-so-nice visitors.  “It’s hard to miss, but I could show you anyways,” he said with a grin.

It was hard to keep the devious smile from warping his face.  Bruce stood from his seat and calmly walked over to Tony, taking his guitar from him to gently set it back where it had been formerly leaned.

“Hey!  I know she’s not a textbook or anything, but that doesn’t mean you can just snatch her out of my hands!” Tony protested, though his reaction was about five seconds late, and upon receiving no response, his eyes narrowed.  He stood and followed, tapping Bruce on the back,  “Hey!  I was talking to you, buddy.”

Bruce swiveled, seizing Tony around his middle.  With a grunt, he lifted the other teenager right off his feet, tossing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and began carrying him towards the stairs.

“Whoa!  Whoa!  What in the Hell are you doing?!” Tony flailed wildly, completely baffled by the ease in which the other teen could just pick him up and carry him, “Put me down!  This isn’t funny!” 

Bruce ignored Tony’s protestations and the way he was now slapping and hitting his back in hopes of getting his attention; his focus was on making his way up the steps out of the basement, following Tony’s detailed directions to the letter.

“Bruce!  Are you even listening to me?!   _Bruce..._ ” he began warningly, suspicion rising in him, “Where are we going?”

By now he had a massive grin on his face, having located the entrance to the pool at the end of the hall.  He pushed open the door with his free hand, keeping his other arm firmly looped around Tony’s midsection so no amount of squirming would help him.

“Bruce, tell me you’re not planning to--” Tony stopped as he took in his surroundings, and his eyes went wide in realization, “Oh my fuckin’ Hell, you are!  Put me down!  Bruce you can’t!  I-I’ll kick you out of my house!  Consider yourself banished forever if you don’t put me down _right now!_ ”

The empty threats didn’t slow him one iota; if anything it made this all the sweeter.  He walked around the pool’s perimeter, until he was standing at the edge of the deep end.

“Bruuuuuuce!  Donnnn’t!” he whined, drained of all dignity as his abductor stood by the water, “Pleeeeeease!  Come onnnnn!  Put me dowwwwwn...”

“Down it is,” Bruce agreed.

“Oh thank God,” Tony moaned, “For a sec there I was really worried you’d do it.”  He let out a sigh of relief, his heightened panic probably having rattled his brain temporarily.  Otherwise he probably would have seen what was coming next.

With another grunt and a mighty heft, Bruce tossed his companion into the drink.

The first thing Tony said when he’d managed to get and keep his head above the surface was “You are so lucky my phone is on it’s charger in my room right now.”  He tried to maintain a glare, but water kept dripping into his eyes, causing him to blink and wipe them frequently.  It wasn’t very intimidating.  He swam his way to the steps at the one end that led into the pool.

“Uh huh,” Bruce grinned, the sight of his sopping wet friend causing him to laugh very similarly to the way he had at the levee those couple months ago.

Tony turned to point a finger in Bruce’s direction, as if he’d just remembered something important, “Also, that my swim shorts are on under my jeans.  You’re _double_ lucky today.”

Bruce’s laughter subsided to chuckles, walking over to one of the nearby slatted chairs to take a seat.

Tony trudged his way up the steps and out of the pool, water coming off of him and his soaked clothes in rivers.  He made his way over to his friend with a sickening _squelch!_ in every step, “Oh just you wait.  As soon as I get over there I am hugging the shit out of you,” he said, voice steely.

“Now _there’s_ a threat.  Coming from the guy who was planning to ‘banish me forever’?” the lilt of his voice raised in amusement.  Bruce didn’t move an inch from his seat.

“Exile is too good for you,” Tony snarked back, coming closer.  Then he stopped, eyes suddenly wide with panic as he blinked furiously, “Son of a bitch.  My contacts.  They came out.”  He hissed a curse and ran back to the edge of the pool, crouching and calling back to Bruce.  “Where did you throw me in?  I can’t see shit without ‘em!”

Bruce lifted an eyebrow, leaning forward.  “Since when did you...?” he started to ask, then stopped mid-sentence.  He hadn’t seen Tony take them out when he’d been over.

“They’re overnights, if you really have to play twenty questions,” he ground out, impatient.  “I need a set of working eyes here, can this wait?  They’re tinted a light green, so you can see them.”  He ran a hand through his hair, looking immensely frustrated, standing up from his crouch to pace back and forth.

“Alright, alright, calm down,” Bruce stood up to come over.  He’d feel kind of bad if he’d actually caused Tony to lose them.  Though he didn’t hold much hope he’d be able to see them either.  They were probably at the bottom of the pool by now.  He squinted at the surface.

“Can I use your phone?  I need to call my optometrist now.  Damn it.”  He hissed and bit down on the end of his thumbnail, gnawing with feigned nervousness.  Bruce was totally buying this.

“Yeah, fine, here,” Bruce slipped it out of his pocket and handed it over.

“Thanks.”  Tony punched in a few numbers quickly, while waiting for the ring.  Though he knew no one would pick up.  But he had to keep his ruse going.  It kept ringing. 

“Fuck, that’s right.  It’s Sunday.”  He groaned, stomping over and setting the phone down on the lawnchair.  He walked back over to Bruce by the pool’s edge, sighing heavily, “Looks like I’m fucked ‘til tomorrow.”

“You don’t have a back-up pair of glasses or anything?” Bruce asked, looking apologetic.

_‘Shit.  Make something up.’_

“No.  I tossed those; didn’t think I’d ever need them again,” he spat out on the fly, faking regret. He exhaled roughly through his nose.  “Thanks for trying though.  I appreciate it,” he muttered, then gave Bruce what could only be described as a man-hug.  Just before separating, he leaned in to Bruce’s ear and whispered, “By the way, I got LASIKs at thirteen.”  It might as well have been a Judas kiss.  He plucked the glasses off of Bruce’s face and shoved the confused teenager pinwheeling backwards into karma’s chlorinated abyss.

It was not warm.  Bruce’s head popped up out of the water, shaking furiously side to side, sending water droplets flinging out of his curly hair.  In all honesty, he was having trouble not busting a gut at Tony’s perfectly played act of revenge, from tricking him to come over to the pool, to appropriating both his cell and glasses.  He leveled his (albeit blurry) gaze on his friend as he tread water with his hands and feet.  “Good one, genius.  You know I didn’t bring a change of clothes,” he delivered.  Not that it was in any way worth being upset over; what was done was done.  And he _had_ thrown Tony in first.

“Oh, I’m sorry.  I couldn’t hear that over the sound of you choking on your own medicine,” Tony said with a snort.

Bruce grasped the lip of the pool and hoisted himself right out, water sloshing over the edge.  He had his feet under him in no time, already on the move towards his target.

Tony considered his escape routes.  He wasn’t going to get much of anywhere fast in five pounds of sopping wet clothes.  Nor would his dad probably appreciate two full-grown children running about the house getting the carpet and wood floors wet.  Having no other viable option, he scooted back into the wall and held up his hands in an attempt at defense or surrender, whichever came first.

Bruce was on him within seconds, hemming him in with his arms by placing his palms flat against the wall to either side of the other teen.  Water was still dripping off the both of them, creating a puddle on the tile floor.  “Glasses, please,” he commanded.

Tony stammered, arms swinging to his sides to accommodate the breaching of his personal space.  He forgot in the shock of the moment that he was still holding the other’s glasses in his hand.

“Do I have to ask twice?” Bruce inquired, leaning in a little closer.

And it was that little bit of distance that made Tony bring his hands up in a reflexive defense, not to protect himself of course, but to protect Bruce from whatever regrettable thing Tony might’ve done if the other had leaned any closer.  Bruce’s glasses dangled from Tony’s hand an inch or so in front of his nose.

“Thanks,” Bruce said, taking them.  Rather than put them back on his face, however, he folded the stems in and placed them beside where Tony had put his phone.  The other teen still seemed petrified, which made it easy to loop his arm around the back of Tony’s neck and pull him into a headlock.  There was a moment of struggling before Bruce barreled them both into the pool, laughing the whole way.

Loosening up, Tony laughed along, at least once he’d breached the surface again, splashing viciously at his friend, “Alright alright, enough bullshit.  C’mere.”  He swam for the ladder, trying to avoid Bruce’s splashes along the way.  Stepping out, he began to disrobe, leaving him clad in only his swimming trunks.  He pointed to the door diagonal to the one they had entered through, “There’s a linen closet, a half bath, and a laundry room back behind that door.”  He pointed as he hoisted himself up the ladder, “Get changed, run your duds in through the dryer, grab some towels, and then it’s jacuzzi time.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Bruce smiled, exiting the pool a second time.  The warmth the hot tub had to offer sounded more than welcome by this point considering all the cold, wet clothing sticking to his body.  He gave his pant legs and sleeves a quick wring, just so he wouldn’t drip all over the floor too much, and made his way toward the indicated door.

“Oh hey, Big Guy!” Tony called back as Bruce approached the door, “Do me a favor.”  Without waiting for a response he balled up his wet clothes and tossed them in Bruce’s direction, “Toss these in the dryer too?”

He almost didn’t catch them considering he was blind as a bat right now, fumbling the wad awkwardly.  “Yeah, sure,” he chuckled, lifting his hand out of pure habit to push his spectacles up which, since they weren’t there, made for a rather ridiculous gesture.  He gave a cough and swiveled to proceed through the door.

First he tossed Tony’s things into the dryer before starting to peel off his own clothes, adding them one by one to the tumbler.  As he did so, he found he couldn’t keep his mind off the little pool war he and Tony had just been engaged in; it was still drawing chuckles from him.  It was honestly such a foreign feeling to him, to be able to let go and have this much fun.  And he’d grown so comfortable around Tony.  He was a good friend and Bruce was happy to have him in his life.

He shook his thoughts loose.  If Tony knew what he was thinking about, he probably would’ve started making fun of him again.  He started the dryer on a heated cycle, and grabbed a couple towels from the linen closet.  Bruce wrapped the one around his middle, bunching the end into the makeshift waistband, and carried the other out with him for Tony to use.  “Brought you one,” he waved it at him as he walked over to the in-ground tub where his friend was currently setting the bubble timer.

“Thanks,” Tony said, snatching it from the outstretched hand, smiling back up at his friend.  “It’s ready whenever you are,” he said, sliding his way in slowly.

To Bruce’s slight surprise, he noticed his friend had chosen to keep his trunks on, something he currently lacked underneath his towel.  Regardless, and rather than be awkward about it, he pulled loose the cloth from around his waist, slinging it over the back of a nearby chair within easy reach.

Tony made the mistake of looking at the wrong time, and in his surprise he slipped and fell the rest of the way into the jacuzzi with a splash.

When he came back up for air all he could think was that it was some type of horrible joke at his expense, and all he could say was an incredulous “Bruce, where’s your bathing suit?” while trying not to look at ‘it’.

Both of the boy’s eyebrows lifted as he stepped into the hot liquid.  “It’s a jacuzzi, not a swimming pool,” he stated, as if that answered Tony’s question.

Just for the record, it didn’t.  And now Tony was wishing that he hadn’t set the bubble timer to ten minute intervals.  This was going to be a long ten minutes.

“Well _I’m_ wearing one,” Tony shot back as if it really helped matters any.  All it did was remind him that Bruce was still not wearing one.

Bruce sat down and got comfortable, emitting a long sigh as the heat soaked in through his skin.  “It’s your choice,” he shrugged.  “But I will say you’re awfully peculiar at times.”  Honestly, there was nothing about nudity to be ashamed of, especially not in a private setting like they were currently.

If the water jets weren’t humming softly, one would be able to hear the sound of Tony Stark’s brain breaking, “Err.. wha?  Me?  Me!?   _I’m_ the peculiar one?”

“Yeah, you,” Bruce responded, shutting his eyes and sinking deeper into the hot, bubbly whirlpool.  “First you’re embarrassed to sing, now you’re embarrassed to show some skin?”

“Excuse me?!” Tony blushed, completely negating his credibility right out of the gate, “I am _not_ embarrassed to get naked in my own hot tub.”

Bruce’s eyes opened, face twisting into a smirk.  “Yeah?  Prove it.”

Tony glared back defiantly, “No.”

Bruce recognized he probably wouldn’t even be pushing this if it wasn’t riling his friend up.  As it was, it was just too good to pass up.  And it was Tony who brought it up in the first place.  “That’s what I thought,” he closed his eyes again, looking smug.

Desperate not to lose face, Tony spoke up, “Ugh, alright.  Geez!”  He whined, followed by a grumble as he went to untie his drawstrings, “Coming into my house and daring me to get naked.  What kind of people do I get myself mixed up with anymore...”  Meanwhile, his other hand reached quite obviously for the bubble timer...

“You realize I can barely even see _anything_ ,” Bruce pointed out, commenting again on his lack of eyesight.

Tony paused, “What’s the big deal then?”

“You tell me.  What’s the big deal?” Bruce reiterated.  “Last I checked, we were two guys hanging out alone on a Sunday afternoon in a _hot tub_.”

Tony would have sweated if he wasn’t soaked already, his heart pounding in his throat.  He was talking himself into a corner and he knew it.  He couldn’t tell Bruce why he was so uncomfortable with this.  He couldn’t do that to himself or Bruce.  Not now that they were getting along so well.  That’d just be selfish on his part.  He made to stand up and climb out.

“I think I heard the house phone, I gotta go get that. Thanks for bringing the tow--”

There most definitely hadn’t been a ring.  He was actually _inventing_ an excuse to try and avoid it.  Bruce could scarcely believe it-- he would’ve pegged Tony to be the type to run around streaking in the middle of the night on a dare.  Not to mention that comment he’d made about skinny-dipping at the levee long ago.  “I don’t think so, those are coming off,” Bruce interrupted as he stood, fighting off the sudden chill of the surrounding air.  Without a hint of shame, he made a grab for the other boy, managing to hook his fingers into the loosened elastic waistband. Tony felt himself pulled backwards, and not too gracefully, into the other boy’s grasp with a disoriented yelp.

“What are you--?  Hey!”

With a single swift tug, Bruce yanked the garment down past an absolutely mortified Tony’s knees.  “...And there we go,” he pronounced, readily slipping back beneath the surface of the water himself.  “Now you might as well take them off.”

Tony wasn’t sure whether to scream, or cry, or just close his eyes and resign himself to what had apparently already been decided.  He was going to be naked in a jacuzzi with Bruce Banner, his classmate, best friend, fellow genius, and apparently also not a big fan of tan lines, or being unshapely, now that he’d had a good look.  Forced.  He’d been forced to get a good look.  But it _was_ good.

_‘Not now!  Dammit Tony, stop thinking about him like that; he’s right next to you!  And I’m pretty sure Bruce would notice a hard-on, even without his glasses!’_

Tony sat on the lip of the tub, completely exposed now and torn between pulling his suit back up or just stepping out of it.  In the back of his mind he could tell he was at half mast and he was probably not done unless he managed to imagine some sort of lewd scenario with Ms. Barnes, and he really didn’t want nightmares to chase his embarrassment tonight.  Putting a cautious hand over his groin, he shook the trunks off, and tossed them to the side.  He slid back into the warm water carefully, sitting as far from Bruce as possible.  God he hoped the big guy was as blind as he claimed to be.  His predicament would be hard not to notice.

“Was that so hard?” Bruce asked.

Tony almost panicked, having misheard the question at first.  He recovered as best as he could though, “Well, you did all the work.   _Was_ it hard?”  He pouted, training his eyes to the floor at the center of the jacuzzi, trying to will the bubbles to turn on as soon as possible.

“Not particularly,” Bruce chuckled.  He gave the other teen a nudge with his foot.  “Relax.”

Tony flinched at the contact, looking back at Bruce nervously, “Yeah, it’s just...”  It didn’t sound relaxed at all, nor did it sound like he was really planning on relaxing anytime soon.

“Just what?” Bruce asked.

Tony exhaled a little too forcefully.  “Nothing,” he answered, just trying to let his body soak and his mind rest.

They sat together through several cycles as the jets flicked on and off.  Bruce had all but fallen asleep, the heat sapping all the former stress out of him, all tenseness gone and body lax beneath the water’s surface.  When he spoke up, his voice was slightly gravelly.  “This was a really good idea...”

Tony was finally feeling the mellow, and was currently slumped against Bruce’s side with his head tilted back and sporting a peaceful smile.  He didn’t remember how he got there, the steam playing games with his memory, but Bruce wasn’t complaining.  He couldn’t argue that at this point, nor would he want to.  Bruce really didn’t have many more personal barriers of Tony’s left to cross.  The ones that did scared the fuck out of him, so he decided to keep any and all challenges and witty talkback to a minimum for now.

“Pepper told me you two were talking the other day...” Tony hummed out.

“Hm?” Bruce registered the question slowly, the memory at the edge of his mind.  “Oh, yeah, we did.”

“What were you talking about?” Tony’s head perked up slightly, although not enough to cancel out his mellow.

Bruce chuckled.  “You,” he answered honestly.

“I knew it!”  He grinned, “So how awesome did she tell you I was, and was it more awesome than you think I am, or have I broken the scale again?”

Bruce’s face rearranged to give Tony an amused look, which Tony couldn’t stop himself from finding cute (probably to his future dismay).  “I don’t, ah... recall anything of that... nature.”  He shrugged.  “Mostly she just wanted to know how you were doing.  She knew we’d been hanging out a lot, so I guess she figured I’d be the best one to ask.”  He motioned a hand out of the water briefly, “I really wasn’t expecting it.”

“Well duuuh,” Tony dragged out the second word obnoxiously.  “You’re my best friend,” he added with a sort of fondness, but matter-of-factly as if he’d said it all the time.

Bruce lowered his gaze and rubbed an arm self-consciously, smiling to himself at Tony’s words.

“I tell you, like, everything,” the teen went on.  “Except maybe about my BMs and sexual fantasies,” he held up a hand, “But that’s because for one, that’s just too much information, and for the other one it’s been pretty much established that your sex drive is in reverse, and you’re probably going to be the world’s angriest nun someday.  And that makes me sad.”

Bruce seemed to be mostly ignoring the jabs.  Instead he was a bit lost in thought, remembering the conversation with Pepper better now that he was thinking about it again.  “I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.  She seemed so worried about you...” he said, looking at his friend again as if trying to figure it out.  He shrugged, “I mean, I know, she’s your ex and exes can get a little crazy-- or, um, so I’ve heard, anyway-- but, yeah, I don’t know,” he finished off with another shrug.

Tony did know, but was he ready to share?  He _had_ just said he could tell Bruce anything.

He took a deep breath, “Would you like to have a couple beers with me here?”  His voice sounded vulnerable suddenly, “I mean, uhh... I...  This is...”  He stopped, steadying his nerves before trying again.

“I told you about my mom.”  It wasn’t a question, but Bruce nodded anyway.

“She uhh... this past Thursday evening, eleven years ago, that was when she went into critical condition.”  He swallowed before continuing, “Then around the fourth night into the next morning she died.  I was home alone because my dad didn’t want me to see her like that.  Pepper just wanted to see how I was dealing this year.”  His eyes were fixated on the floor of the jacuzzi again.

Bruce listened sympathetically.  Now her concern made a lot more sense.  But it invoked his own set of concerns.  “So how _are_ you doing?”

Tony chuckled fondly, “Better.  You and your mom helped, actually.  A lot.”

His lips pulled into a smile.  “I’m glad to hear it,” he said simply.

“Well it’s true.  I dunno where I’d be if you hadn’t invited me over, or shown up today... probably halfway through my second bottle of Jameson by now,” Tony said with sincerity.  “You guys did me a solid.  I’d hug you, but you’re naked and stuff.”

“Yeah.  I can see why that might slow you down,” Bruce said.

“But not you, I’m sure,” Tony snickered, elbowing Bruce’s arm playfully, “Oh!  That reminds me!  Did Pep tell you that she thought we were boyfriends?”

Bruce’s face scrunched up again, this time a little more awkwardly.  “I think I have reason to believe she was joking when she said this?”

“Yeah, I think she meant fuck-buddies really.”  Tony snorted, completely missing the point, “And can you believe she had the nerve to imply that you were pitching and I was catching?  Are you kidding me?  I am obviously the alpha male here.”  He emphasized this by puffing out his chest and flexing a bicep the wrong way.

Bruce coughed into a fist, somewhere between trying to collect himself at the very notion and trying not to laugh at Tony’s poor show of superiority.  He had never thought of his friend in that way.  To be frank, he’d never really thought of anyone that way.  “Well, uh... she knows you better than I do in that... regard,” he tip-toed, not particularly interested in pursuing the subject at any length.

“Bruce, the word is ‘sexually’.  You’re not going to die if you say it.  And frankly I think you need to rethink your priorities if you’re in a hot tub naked with another man and your main insecurity is saying the s word,” Tony scolded, shaking his head.  “And I know for a fact your dear sweet mother has said it at least once in the past three days.”  Tony winced at his own comment, “Ow... too soon.”

“Okay, well _sexually_ I hadn’t made any observations indicative of such a claim,” Bruce corrected, stressing the word in question.

Tony snorted.  “I’m pretty sure _sexually_ you haven’t _anything_ ,” he asserted, taking some joy in being the one giving the pushes now, “And you get all defensive about it, like a dog with a chew toy.”  Bruce raised his eyebrow at the supposed faux pas, before Tony elaborated, “You know, because a bone doesn’t really interest him.”

Bruce gave a slight huff of growing annoyance.  “You seem more fixated on my masturbation habits than I am.  What do you want, a detailed report on the next time I self-stimulate sent via text?  Maybe I should send a picture along with it?”  After the words left his mouth he was distinctly aware of how right Tony was about being defensive; he was practically growling, like a dog warning someone to back off before it decided to bite.

Tony felt a furious blush rise, his eyes like a deer in headlights.  He gestured with his hands as if he were pushing those thoughts down under the water’s surface, “Whoa!  That will not be necessary, big guy.”  He paused thoughtfully, looking shaken by his next thought, “Is that what it is?  You think I’m interested in you or something?  Cuz I’m not gay.”

“No, it’s not that...” he let out a breath through his nose, reaching up to pinch it with thumb and finger as he tried to re-center.  Tony had taken that all wrong.  Though whether his friend was gay or not wouldn’t have made any difference to him, nor would it have had any bearing on their friendship or the establishment thereof.  This was about him.  And how _he_ had a bunch of insecurities.  Finally he looked at Tony again, the tone of his voice apologetic.  “I get that you’re just trying to ‘look out for me’, in your own... way.  I even recognize that in certain circumstances that’s what friends do for one another.  I just... I don’t need the help, okay?  I don’t want a wingman, I just want... a friend.”  His gaze was practically pleading; he just wanted Tony to drop the whole discussion.

Tony’s face softened; he dropped pursuit.  “Best friend,” he corrected, “Only friend is best by default.”

Bruce let out a deep breath, sinking lower into the hot tub until his chin practically touched the water.  “Yeah... best,” he murmured, a small smile returning to his face as he reached out to give Tony a light shove that conveyed there were no hard feelings on his part.

“Oh, and I just mentioned that whole ‘boyfriends’ thing because I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable if people start spreading rumors like that,” Tony explained.  It was a half-truth.

“It’s fine,” Bruce assured him.  “People will be people, I understand,” Bruce concluded without much more to contribute.  That was kind of typical.  Nowadays it seemed like two people couldn’t have a close friendship like theirs without _someone_ labeling it sexually.  He did hope it wouldn’t come up too much at school however.

Tony nodded, “But just say the word, man, and I could hook you up with pretty much any chick in the school, so long as you remember to wear pants on the first date.”  And there was a calm silence between the two of them.

For about a minute and forty five seconds.

“Ever wonder what it’d be like though? I mean, like, with a guy?” Tony asked, his question interrupting the silence like a broken dish.

Bruce blinked.  Considering the fact that he had no... data to make said comparison, it was hardly a question that crossed his mind.

“Not that I’m saying I’m interested or anything,” Tony backpedaled, “We already addressed that.  It’s just a random question.”

The teenager approached the question from a completely physiological standpoint.  “Well... physically I imagine it would be slightly different.  Tighter, perhaps, considering the orifice.  It would require lubrication, but eliminate the potentiality of impregnation, though it would still be advisable to use a prophylactic to prevent the possibility of contracting an STD.  Beyond that, however, I’d assume there would be little difference,” he finished analytically, hoping to some degree, that he had answered his friend’s question, strange as it was.

“No, I mean like...” Tony tried to explain, quickly finding himself flustered, “Whatever.  It’s stupid, nevermind.”

Bruce just gave a shrug.  “Okay.  Want to get out?” he asked, hooking his thumb back at their two towels.  The pads on all his fingers had gone pruney; the both of them had probably stewed long enough.  And with any luck, the dryer would have quit.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Tony agreed, though he made no move to stand first.

Bruce got out and walked over to his towel dripping.  “I’m getting kind of hungry,” he said as he ran the terricloth over himself to get everywhere reasonably dry.  “What about you?”

“Chinese okay?” Tony asked, turning to address his companion, and accidentally getting an eyeful as the other did the same.

_‘Ohshitohshitohshit!  Look away.  Look away you moron.  Stop staring!  Stop it!  Bad Tony!’_

“Yeah, that sounds really good,” Bruce agreed, oblivious to his companion’s internal freak-out.

“You, uh, mind putting that away before you poke an eye out?” Tony swallowed nervously.

“The way you’re acting, you’d think I had it in your face,” Bruce rolled his eyes as he wrapped the towel around his midsection and secured it.  “I’m gonna check our laundry.”

“Oh shut up,” Tony shot back, face reddening at the images brought on by Bruce’s phrasing, “I’m just a little thrown off by your blatant exhibitionism is all.  It’s nothing I couldn’t top, easy.”

“Riiight,” Bruce chuckled, continuing on his way.  He shut the door after himself and opened the dryer door, pleased to find their clothes were no longer damp.  A cunning grin stole over his face however, deciding his friend could do with one more good prank being pulled on him (God, Tony was rubbing off on him; he was such a bad influence).  Bruce plucked his friend’s clothes out to fold them neatly and hide them amongst the linens.

Now that the coast was clear, Tony pulled himself out of the hot tub, covering his piece, just in case Bruce turned back around for whatever reason.

Bruce stepped out a moment later, putting on his best look of absolute befuddlement.  “Hey, Tony?” he said, “I can’t find your clothes...  I swear I put them in the dryer, but now they’re gone.”

Tony’s raised a skeptical eyebrow, “What do you mean you ‘can’t find my clothes’?”  He snatched up the towel at his feet and hurriedly drew it up around himself, “There is no way a dryer swallowed up an entire outfit.”

He let Tony by, following him into the laundry room.  “Yeah, I know, I mean sometimes I lose a sock, but... have a look, maybe I’m just blind.”

“Gotta do everything myself huh?” Tony rolled his eyes, leaning over to pull open the dryer door and peek inside unsuspectingly.

And easy as pie, Tony was in place.  Grinning like a hyena, Bruce reached out and yanked the other boy’s towel from around his hips.  With three quick flips, he made a rat-tail of it and proceeded to lash his friend across the rump with it, creating a loud snap through the air.

Tony yelped and spun around to face his attacker.  He couldn’t help but smirk internally.  This was all his influence.  On the outside, though, a fire burned in his eyes as he advanced on Bruce slowly.  “They will never find your body,” he growled out as he scanned the surroundings for a suitable weapon, “And after the bribes, you won’t even be on the news anymore.”

Bruce responded by twisting the towel up again to ready it, circling his friend the way two men in a swordfight might.  When he spied an opening, he snapped it out again.

Tony hopped backwards, dodging one of Bruce’s lashes, countering by tackling him and backing them both into the wall.  Paying no mind to their proximity to one another, Tony grinned for his minor victory.

“So, terms of defeat...” Tony began, unmoving, “I’m ordering chinese.  You will pick something without whining about it being too expensive because you want to pretend to have manners when I’m paying for food.  You will split a medium wonton soup with me, because dammit, a small isn’t enough for one person, and a large is too much.  And lastly, you’ll be answering the door for the delivery guy--” he grabbed at the knot in the other’s towel and gave a strong tug, stepping back-- “in this, you jackass,” he finished, gesturing to his intellectual rival’s birthday suit.

“Fine by me,” Bruce rose to the dare, grabbing his towel back.  This pranking needed to stop before it got out of hand and one of them had to concede.  He opened the door to the linen closet and chucked Tony’s clothes at him.  “Now, go on and call, I’m not going to run around your house in nothing but a towel the rest of the night.”

“Now that you’re done tormenting your humble host with your obscene lack of modesty,” Tony said with an eye roll, “What do you want off the menu?  And are you cool with a small order of california rolls?  I can’t not order them if they’re on the menu.  Just saying.”

“What, because I’m comfortable with the way I look?” Bruce half-smirked.  He thought about it a moment before rattling off a few dishes.  “Chicken chow mein, mu shu pork, potstickers, and yeah, I’m ‘cool’ with that,” he used the vernacular.

Tony nodded, “Got it.”  He placed the order, got dressed, and the two of them moved out to the living room to chill and wait for their food to arrive.

“Hey, do you have any more of those imports?” Bruce asked his compatriot, certain that he did.

“Plenty,” Tony answered with a wicked smile, “and the old man’s not gonna miss ‘em.”

“Well, I only need one to start,” Bruce chuckled.

“Mi casa es su casa,” Tony responded.  “That’s spanish for ‘get it yourself’,” he added with a smirk, “Same fridge as last time.  And grab me one while you’re there.


	8. Chapter 8

Theodore Bernard Ahlström, or Thor (as most people had called him since third grade), was having a fairly decent evening, despite still being ‘on the clock’-- an odd phrase his fellows used to say that there remained work yet to be done. As it was, he only need make two more deliveries, and then he could return home triumphant, with spare hours to toil upon that blasted ‘homework’ his school elders had assigned to be completed on the ‘morrow.

As he pulled his combustion-powered chariot onto the correct street, due to the gracious guidance of his loyal Lady of Garmin, it dawned upon him slowly that this was the address of young Master Stark, with whom he recalled sharing physical education class and ‘study hall’. Another strange name, for it dealt nothing with the study of halls, nor was it held in a hall, but another classroom instead, and naught but two or three of the occupants were content to truly study.

Upon reaching the gates of the aforementioned Stark Fortress, he grinned widely, knowing that this night he may well be blessed with a ‘tip’ fit for the Gods.

Parking his chariot and leaving it to idle for convenience, in the case one might need to ride off into battle at but a moment’s notice, Thor checked the receipt and hoisted up the bags for this address with both arms and made his way to the front door.  Master Stark had an appetite!  Thor heartily approved.  He rapped his knuckles upon it firmly in attempt to call the Lord of this den outside.

\--

The knock at the door alerted the two teens that their ill-fated delivery boy had arrived.  Bruce let the bottle pop away from his lips.  “Guess I better get that,” he said, throwing a leer Tony’s way as he scooped up the bills on the coffee table.

“I will bet you _anything_ whoever it is, he’ll just drop the food on the doorstep and run screaming into the night within two minutes,” Tony said with mirth in his eyes.

It was just a turn of phrase, but Bruce couldn’t resist calling it to question.  “Oh yeah, you bet anything?” he took another slug before setting the beer down.

Tony knew he was probably baiting the bear by challenging Bruce again, but he wasn’t worried.  He had this in the bag.

“Yeah.”  He turned to level a cocky stare at Bruce, “Anything.”

“I’m holding you to it,” the teenager settled, removing his towel from his waist to throw it over his shoulders instead.  Gripping both ends casually, he sauntered over to the door, determined to play this off as casually as possible.  He took the handle and pulled the door open on its hinges.  To his slight surprise, he recognized the delivery boy from school.  More importantly, he was European, and on the football team.

Thor’s blue eyes went wide, looking him up and down.  “Banner??  For what reason are you in a state of undress in Master Stark’s home?”

Tony stood back about three or four feet from the doorway so he could follow the action without being seen.  The delivery guy sounded familiar but Tony thought nothing of it, more fixated on the fact that he hadn’t turned tail and ran yet.

Bruce just shrugged his reply.  “Jacuzzi.”

“Master Stark has granted you permission to use his bubbly-tub cauldron?” Thor sounded almost jealous.

“Yeah, he’s pretty nice about it.  Maybe you should ask him about coming over sometime after school,” he said loud enough to know Tony could hear him offering up his jacuzzi.

Tony narrowed his eyes.  Bruce was pushing his luck, and this transaction was taking far too long.  Determined not to lose, Tony shucked off his jeans and his sneakers and strode out front in only his tee and boxers, looping an arm around Bruce’s waist.  The other teen frowned somewhat, not recalling anything that suggested Tony could attempt to interfere with the outcome of the bet.

“Hey babe?  What’s taking so long?  We were in the middle of something.”

“Master Stark, there you are.  I have the order which you requested from my place of employment,” he held it up, then paused, looking befuddled.  “Why do you call upon your friend by the name of a swine?”

Tony had a brief moment of realization, eyes locking with the blues of the verbose, foreign and more than likely brain-damaged star player of their school football team.  He paled for just a split second before responding.  “Because he thinks that ‘honey’ is too girly, and ‘dear’ is too old.”

Thor still looked confused, slowly attempting to put the pieces together.

Bruce rolled his eyes.  “It’s a joke.”

“Ahh, I see.  Master Stark means to imply that the two of you mutually partake in pleasures of the flesh!”  His eyes brightened, and he slapped his knee.  Actually.  Slapped.  His.  Knee.  His chest thundered with bellowing laughter, “Ahh ha!  T’is a fine jest!”

“I jest you not,” Tony returned.

“One of you speak as though it were a joke, while the other does not,” Thor reasoned aloud, glancing back and forth between them suspiciously.  “I demand to know which of you seeks to blind me with the hide of a sheep!  Out with it!  I shall not be the victim of your mockery!”

“Bruce’s just shy,” Tony grinned.  “Don’t mind him.  You should probably skip out on this next bit though.  You might be scarred for life when that whole ‘dam of passion’ thing overflows.”

Thor’s eyes narrowed, they were not cheating him out of his tip, “I see through your frail attempt at denying me my well-earned gratuities.  I see no reason on the Gods’ green to believe this to be anything but a ruse!  Now either kindly desist and give me hard earned coin or offer up proper proof of your claims!”

Bruce started to hold out Thor’s money, but Tony pushed his arm back, rising to the challenge.  It was make it or break it time, “We were literally about to kiss right before you showed up, for your information!  Do you really want us to do the dirty in front of you?”

Thor chuckled, “My only interest lies in calling your bluff, Master Stark...”

Tony turned to face Bruce, leaning in.  “I’m really gonna do it!” he warned, though his nerves were showing and he really hoped it wasn’t so obvious that he wasn’t.

“Save it, zippy, your two minutes is up,” Bruce said, placing his palm on Tony’s face to push it away from his own.  He re-donned his towel and took the bag of Chinese food, holding out payment with a comely tip.  “Thanks for helping me win a bet, Theodore.  Want an ale?  It’s on the house.”

“Master Banner, you are quite forthright with your generosity!  This would please me greatly!” the large blonde grinned widely.

“Sure,” Bruce disappeared to go to the kitchen.  He set the Chinese food on the kitchen island and grabbed another of Tony’s dad’s bottles from the fridge, bringing it back.  He handed it off.  “Don’t drink it on the road, okay?”

“Ahh worry not friends!  My bloodline is rooted so deeply in the drink, I do not bleed, I mead.”  And then he proceeded to laugh heartily from the chest as if it were the greatest joke ever told. 

Bruce chuckled slightly.  “Alright, well, see you at school tomorrow.”  He waved and shut the door slowly, turning to give Tony a wicked smile.

“Oh shut up,” Tony leered back in sour defeat, “The Hell’re you gonna make me do?”

Bruce took his time in going back to the kitchen, with Tony following along at his heels.  He untied the knot in the plastic bag and pulled out the paper cartons one-by-one before selecting his chow mein and popping open the top.

“Well??” Tony prompted a second time, reaching for his cartons and disposable chopsticks.  All the while he was trying to make eye contact and failing.

Bruce grinned, finding his friend’s ultimate impatience in knowing what his comeuppance would be rather amusing.  He slid his chopsticks out of their wrapper and pulled them apart.  “I was thinking I’d have you call Pepper...” he trailed off, leaving an implicit ‘and’ at the end of his statement.

Tony tried to wait for the rest of that sentence.  Really, he did, but in the end his patience wore thin.  “Yeah?” he cut in anxiously, “Spit it out, already.”

Bruce gave a soft laugh.  He was tempted to tease his friend further, but instead he did as asked, smirking at Tony over the ridge of his glasses.  “I was thinking I’d have you call Pepper and ask her for advice on ‘giving head’.” 

Tony shot a look, and opened his mouth to speak, but found that his words needed some time to catch up.  After a beat of glaring mouth agape at his guest, he finally managed to reply, “You’re evil.  You realize that, right?”  Tony sounded almost curious.

His next laugh wasn’t quite a cackle, but it did approach it.  Bruce dipped his chopsticks into the package, plucking out a helping of long noodles.  “I’m no more evil than you are stupid.  Who bets they’ll do ‘anything’?  You’re lucky I didn’t tell you to employ a ‘learn-by-doing’ method,” he quipped.  “But it’s a lot more embarrassing this way; maybe you’ll learn your lesson.  And a thing or two.”  He inserted the bite and chewed.

Tony pouted, “But it’s Sunday, I’m not supposed to go back to learning until tomorrow.  And I’ve only been to JC once but I’m pretty sure this doesn’t count as a night class.”  He broke into his boneless ribs and fried rice, deciding to leave the egg roll for later.  Too awkward.  “Plus, Pepper would never believe it.”

Bruce lifted an eyebrow.  “Is Tony Stark attempting to welsh on a bet he lost fair and square?”

“Thor’s a pushover,” Tony huffed through a mouthful of pork, “If it had been _anyone_ else...”

“But it wasn’t.  And you lost,” Bruce said matter-of-factly.  He strode over and snatched Tony’s meal right out from his hands, ignoring his whine of protest.  “This is mine.  Until you make that call.”

Tony looked like he was trying to hold back a tantrum, “Fine.  But I totally rocked your nerdy little world, if that’s what you’re trying to imply.  I’m talking an earth-shattering, sexuality-questioning, giving-up-on-all-sentient-life-forms-forever-except-for-Tony-Stark _experience_.”  He swept out his hands in front of him upon delivery of the word.

“If that were the case, why would you be looking for advice?” Bruce couldn’t help but point out the gap in logic.  “Not that I’m calling your ‘prowess’ into question,” he added with a snicker.

“Because obviously I’m making a passive-aggressive jab at an ex.  Otherwise I’d be calling your mom,” Tony grinned triumphantly, if only for a moment.  At least he wasn’t going down without a fight.  Pun not intended.

Bruce frowned, not terribly amused by that comment, but he retaliated by taking a nice big bite of his friend’s pork.

“Oh Hell no.”  Tony paled, “That’s not cool, dude.”

He took a second one, showing no intention of stopping until Tony started dialing.

Exasperated, Tony pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Pepper’s number from memory, hoping she was out with Happy and not keen on answering her phone, “Alright fine.  Put down the fucking spare ribs and lean back.”

Bruce did so, folding his arms across his chest with a victorious smile.  “And remember to put it on speaker,” he added the condition as if it were a reminder.

“Done and done,” Tony growled, then added, “And keep it where I can’t see it or so help me God...”

\--

Pepper had just been finishing going over some spreadsheets for the Fall quarter fundraiser/benefit, when her phone began to chime to the tune of AC/DC’s ‘Love Song’.  Both her eyebrows lifted in surprise; she couldn’t remember the last time Tony had called _her_ , rather than the other way ‘round.  A swath of emotions swirled inside her... excitement, hopefulness, but among them, worry.  Immediately she hit the ‘answer’ button, placing the cell to her ear.

“Tony, how are you?”  She couldn’t help those always seemed to be the first words out of her mouth.

“Eh, I’m good, Pep.  You busy?” Tony asked, closing his eyes in silent prayer, _‘Please, please,_ please _let her be too busy to talk.’_

“Of course not,” she assured, closing out what she was doing.  She had been busy, but for Tony she could always make time.

“Great,” Tony eased out through a grimace.   _‘You’re dead to me Jesus.’_

Bruce listened to the conversation, watching his friend’s uncomfortable body language, already amused.

Tony didn’t seem very forthcoming; Pepper frowned slightly.  “Tony, are you okay?”

“Oh, no I’m fine.”  Tony swallowed.  If only he could find some sort of signal to send her, let her know this was a bad joke without Bruce knowing, “I wanted your advice on... something.”

Her surprise was evident.  Tony asking for advice was practically unheard of.  “W-well... of course.  What is it?”

Tony smacked his lips, thinking how to word his next statement.  Maybe he could spin this.  “I have a friend over here,” he whispered into the phone, “I’m doing them a favor... uhh...”  He heard Bruce shift position and panicked, blurting out, _“HowdoIgivegoodhead?!”_

It was really hard to not snort a laugh, but Bruce managed to stifle it before it got out.

Pepper’s eyes went wide on the other end.  “Oh.  My.  Gooosh...” she put her hand over her mouth.

“I-It’s not... I’m asking for--” Tony started, “You’re probably busy, forget I called.  See you in class.”  He went to hang up.

Bruce was about to intervene when Pepper responded.  “No, I’m not--” she still seemed a little thrown by the question.  “I just...”  The girl started and stopped again, parsing what Tony had said before he blurted.  “This friend...”

“Is _nobody_ you know!” Tony interjected a little too quickly.

“Hey, Pepper,” Bruce spoke up calmly, but with a smile.

If Tony’s words hadn’t been enough to confirm her suspicions, the second voice completely confirmed them.  “Bruce!  Oh my gosh, I _knew_ it was you.”  The gears churned in her head, realizing now that all of this was a prank-- but not on her, on _Tony_.  Pepper smirked.  She didn’t know what Bruce had done to get the best of her ex-boyfriend, but she was certainly going to go along with it now.

Tony’s face fell.  Well, fell was an understatement.  Tony’s face had plummeted to its death, “Surprise?” he ground out morbidly.

Pepper leaned back in her computer chair, putting a leg over a knee to get comfortable.  “You two are so adorable; intuition told me there was something going on between you guys!” she motioned her forefinger in the air.

“Really, now?” Tony rolled his eyes, more for himself really.  “Still, this must be _so_ awkward for you,” he hinted, hoping it might lead somewhere, hopefully away from the subject of oral sex.

“Oh, no, I understand,” she quickly dashed his ‘concern’ away.  “Who else could you ask about something like this?”

“Well Bruce said it just _had_ to be you.  I think he feels threatened that I’m still talking to my ex.  Ow!” Tony rubbed the back of his ear, turning to glare at Bruce who had given him a pinch.

“Oh, well, I’m _sure_ he’ll feel less threatened once you find a time to put my advice to good use,” Pepper said smirkingly.  “Did you want to get a pad of paper and a pen, or are you just going to take it ‘as you go’?”

Tony hadn’t thought that far ahead, and found himself lacking an answer.  Before he thought about what he was doing, he turned his head to look back at his tormentor, “Uhh, what was the plan, Bruce?”

“Oh, Tony’s a talented guy; I’m sure he can just follow along,” Bruce leaned back against the counter, and just to get his friend’s goat he suggestively widened his stance a little.

Tony’s eyes widened, then narrowed into a glare.  He managed to mouth something pejorative to Bruce before answering in deadpan, “Stop.  You’re going to embarrass me.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, it’s only natural to want to make your... partner feel good,” Pepper crooned out sensually, laying it on thick.

Tony choked, “Hey, actually I should probably brush my teeth first, come to think of it.  Maybe I should call you back.”

Pepper put a hand on her hip.  “Now, Tony, I know when you’re stalling.”

“You got me,” Tony laughed hesitantly, buckling down for what was apparently inescapable.  “So what’s first?”

“Well, I recommend something comfortable for the both of you.  You don’t want your knees getting sore,” Pepper gestured in the air.  Her ex’s obvious humiliation was plenty reason enough to keep going.  “At least, not until you’ve gotten more practice.”

“Oh.  Umm... what do you... uhhh... recommend?” Tony tried not to show his irritation, though part of him was keeping track of her answers.

“Lying on the couch is a nice alternative,” she said calmly, as if this were textbook.  “Have him lie on his back with his head propped on the armrest.  You can rest beneath him on your forearms with your head between his legs.”

For a moment, it looked like Bruce was weighing a decision in his head.  He made sure his towel was still firmly tied around his waist and walked out to the front room where the couch was.  Tony followed, waiting until Bruce plopped his smug ass on the couch before answering, “Oh, you mean that couch I sat on when I was masturbating earlier?”

Bruce’s nose gave a wrinkle; he lifted an arm as if to check for incriminating stains.  “There’s a surprise,” he issued sarcastically.  He addressed the phone.  “Okay, Pepper, I’m here.”

“I’m just going to ignore that comment,” Pepper spoke.  In all actuality, she had no idea where both boys were, for all she knew they weren’t even at home, but she kept the ruse going.  “Tony, what about you?”

Tony’s eyes drifted over Bruce’s reclined form before he caught himself, “Hm?  What _about_ me?”

“Are you in position?”

Tony looked back at Bruce from where he stood, then back at the phone, “Uh, yeah.  I’m... uhh... there.”

“Good,” she smiled, sounding far too pleased.  “Now, we’ve been talking a while... does he need any warming up?”

Tony swallowed.  “Umm, do you, Bruce?” he asked loud enough for both of them to hear.

“I’d think that would be obvious, just by looking,” Pepper said, arching an eyebrow.

“His towel is still on,” Tony blurted out before he could stop himself, grimacing at his own mistake.

Her voice faltered, sensing that bit of honesty.  “W-wait... are you-- are you _serious?_ ”

For just a moment, Tony’s eyebrows furrowed.  In an instant something clicked.  Pepper was playing along with Bruce.  He smirked for just a moment.  Even Bruce wouldn’t have been able to pick it up in it’s subtlety.  Creeping closer to Bruce’s form on the couch, he hissed into the phone, “Pep, please.  Why the fuck would I lie about a towel?  Now go on...” he responded, easing himself down on top of Bruce, eyes saying _‘I dare you to say something.’_

Her face blushed a vibrant red.  She’d been so sure... how could it be anything else but a prank?  And yet...  Too appalled to respond, she did the only other thing she could think to do and hurriedly ended the call.

Bruce was torn between laughing and shaking his head; that ended that.  “Smooth.  You’re going to have fun explaining that one tomorrow,” he said before placing one hand on Tony’s face and the other on his shoulder, forcibly dumping him off to the side and onto the floor.  “I’m going to get dressed finally,” he said, standing.

“She’ll be fine.” Tony dismissed, “I’ll call her later.”

“Probably a good idea,” Bruce said.  He didn’t really want to have freaked out Tony’s ex too badly.

“Or maybe not.  She does have homeroom with you...” Tony smirked as he got back up.

The teenager rolled his eyes, dropping his towel to slip on his boxers.  “Yeah.  What was I supposed to say again?  Something about an ‘earth-shattering’ experience?”

“Tell her that since she abandoned us I had to ‘employ a learn-by-doing method’, and I’m going to have to have the couch sent out to be re-upholstered.”

Bruce smirked at the exchange.  “I’ll be sure to do that,” he responded, throwing his shirt back on and buttoning it up swiftly.

“Which reminds me, you owe me two thousand bucks for the new couch; next time try grabbing onto my neck instead of the armrest.  Hair works too.”

“Ha ha,” Bruce vocalized, clearing his throat into his closed hand.  “I guess you can have your ribs back, though I think we’re going to have to re-heat our food.”  He wandered back into the kitchen, picking up his chow mein to test the remaining warmth, which wasn’t much.

“Hmm yeah...” Tony’s voice drifted off.  “Hey, if you don’t mind heating those up, would you like to meet me in the attic?” he asked with uncertainty as he cut in front of Bruce to grab something from the freezer.  He closed the door as quickly as he’d opened it and kept the small rectangular box concealed as he left the room.

Bruce’s eyebrows drew together in the middle.  Tony was full of surprises today, first the basement, now the attic.  He wondered what it was that his friend wanted to show him now.  “Uh, sure,” he agreed as he tore off the metallic handle and popped his carton into the microwave to run for a minute.

“Okay, stairs are down the hall, to the left.  You know, the other hall.  There’ll be a light on.  Bring beer or I’ll have to send your ass back down!” Tony called back, snatching up the air freshener and swinging by his room for a glass of now warm water and his zippo.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maria's Dress: http://tinyurl.com/3s44n3g

Bruce tapped his fingers on the counter as he ran Tony’s food through next.  He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that the mood had gotten a little more somber.  Rather than attempt a juggling act, he put everything back in the plastic bag, including a couple more beers-- no need to get carried away, they had school tomorrow morning-- and proceeded down the indicated hallway.  He found the stairs by following the light, starting up them, which was when he caught the distinct whiff of cigarette smoke lingering in the air.  Blinking confusedly, he came up the rest of the way.  “Tony?  Are you smoking?”

Tony turned to meet eyes with his friend, as said friend’s head ascended into view from the direction of the stairs, “Well, it would be silly of me to say ‘no’ now...” He ashed into the cup and took another drag, holding it in his lungs for a second before exhaling, “It’s only tobacco. Don’t shit yourself.”

“Thanks for the tip.  I go to JC, you know, I am aware of the difference in odor,” he rolled his eyes, coming up the rest of the way.  It was a decently spacious attic, though the slanted ceiling was a bit lower and the floor was a bare pine wood.  It was also noticeably cooler than the heated downstairs and there were several boxes stacked around.  Bruce set the bag down and folded his legs up underneath him indian-style, sitting beside his friend.  “But since when did you smoke?” he asked as he handed Tony his food; the side of his lip tweaked disapprovingly, even if he didn’t vocalize such.

“I don’t.” Tony gestured with his cigarette, before taking another drag, “This is a once a year thing.”

Bruce’s lips pursed, and he gave a little nod of understanding.  His mom again.  “Ah, I see.”  He opened up his box and resumed eating, not sure what to fill the silence with, watching Tony gradually burn the tip further and further down with each pull.

“If the smoke bothers you, I can sit by a window or something,” Tony mumbled towards the floor after a few moments of silence.

“Don’t worry about it,” Bruce shrugged, not too bothered as far as these things went.

“Well, you know, second-hand smoke kills.” Tony motioned at Bruce to give him a beer, and the other teen complied, “And I think I’d prefer to use the candlestick.”

Bruce chuckled, his gaze lowering into his carton of food, poking at it with the chopsticks.  “Was ‘in the attic’ even an option in that game?” he joked back, not sure what to say otherwise.

“I was planning on waiting until we’d gotten the blood cleaned off the walls in the billiard room, but it’s so hard to find good help these days,” Tony sighed.

Bruce took another bite, making an affirmative noise of response.

“Hey, can you get that box up there?” Tony pointed to a box just a few feet away from Bruce, stacked up on top of two slightly larger ones.

Bruce pushed his glasses up to look where his friend was pointing.  He set his food down and stood to grab it, noticing then that on the side of the cardboard box was written the name ‘Maria’-- it was likely full of old keepsakes.  Taking great care in case there was anything fragile inside, he handed it off to Tony.

Flipping open the box, Tony pulled out a few things, notably a photo album, a few pieces of jewelry, and what was probably once a stuffed animal before age had made it almost unrecognizable.

In somewhat of a silent invitation, Tony picked up the photo album and scooted closer to Bruce’s side.  The other boy looked surprised, tilting his head as he peered down at the book in his lap.  “I’ll warn you, I’ve been told I was a _very_ ugly baby.”

“Well, at least you grew out of it,” Bruce gave him a sideways smile.

Before opening the album, Tony held out his cigarette, at a safe distance, to Bruce, “Hm?” It was a silent offer, just as much as the chance to view his childhood memories was.

Bruce wet his lips in consideration.  Under ordinary circumstances, he would have declined, but he sensed this held more weight than a simple ‘would you like a pull?’.  This was more like tradition.  And Tony had decided to share it with him.  He took the rolled vice in his fingertips, bringing it to his lips, but hesitating just a moment, realizing he didn’t really know how to go about this.  Nonetheless, he pinched it and gave it a go, breathing in a little through his nose and a little through the burning tobacco to try to find the right balance.

“Funny thing, one of the counselors told me when I got caught the one time,” Tony piped in, “He said the main calming effects from smoking came from the fact that it was identical to those old anger management exercises; breathe in deep, hold it in for ten seconds, then exhale slowly. Then he asked me for a light.”  He snorted, looking down at the cover of the photo album.

Bruce finishing taking his breath, but as he held the smoke in, his lungs gave a disapproving flinch and he gave a hard cough into his hand, expelling the substance.  A few smaller ones followed, billowing his cheeks before he was able to regain himself, eyes watering just a tad.

Tony put his hand on Bruce’s back, “Hey, hey, no worries, big guy. That happens to everyone the first time. Try not to inhale too much, it’s really like half a breath. Then the rest of it is air.” Tony took the cigarette from Bruce’s fingers gingerly and gestured to himself, “Watch.”

Tony pulled from the filter in one even breath, plucking the filter from his lips with his index and middle finger. He held the smoke in his mouth and inhaled fresh air through his nose, allowing the smoke to travel down to his lungs. He held it there for a few seconds, before exhaling slowly and evenly.

“Hm...” Bruce hummed, taking it back to give it another shot.  The second time was a little smoother and the third a little smoother than that, as his lungs and throat got accustomed to the sensation.  The menthol added a slight tingling.  He tapped the cigarette off into the cup as his friend had earlier, watching the ashes float on the water’s surface a moment before they sank to the bottom.

”You feel that buzzing in your head?” Tony asked, smiling lazily, contemplating lighting his own and leaving Bruce to ‘experiment’ further.

The high schooler nodded.  He definitely felt... calmer.  Less on-edge.  Like his emotions had been blunted.  It was foreign, but in some ways welcome.  At least, he could understand now first-hand why Tony would indulge, if once a year.

“You can keep that,” Tony gestured to the cigarette, while lighting another for himself, “Just don’t burn the place down. And don’t go making a habit out of it. It’s way too expensive.”

“Hm, yeah okay,” Bruce responded, the nicotine making his typically terse responses even terser.  He motioned at the photo album in Tony’s lap.  “So are we going to look?  I want to see just how ‘ugly’ you were,” he added teasingly, giving his friend a gentle elbow and a sly look.

Tony rolled his eyes, flipping open the cover. The first page was a few scattered photos of his mother and father, back when they had been dating.  One they were sharing an ice cream out on the wharf, another they were on a picnic at some park or another.  He inclined the album towards Bruce, pointing to the each of them with his fingertip.  “My mom.  My dad.”

The other teen studied the two through his spectacles.  Judging from the image quality, he’d guess the photos had been taken two or three decades ago.  He blew out a puff of smoke.  “You look a lot like your dad,” he observed.  “Plus a goatee.”

Tony smiled in spite of himself.  “Yeah I get that a lot,” he mumbled, turning the page.  “This was the night my dad proposed I think.  I remember my mom used to tell this story about Steven Rogers-- he was a family friend; my dad met him in flight school, they used to do runs together.  The guy knew he was going to propose and so he wouldn’t stop following my mom and dad around with the camera because he wanted to capture the moment when it happened on film.  Barely left ‘em alone.”  Tony shook his head.  “From what I can tell, he was just as, if not even _more_ annoying than Steve Junior. And yes, it’s the same guy. Talk about shit luck.”

“Well, he did at least get some good shots,” Bruce commented, giving credit where it was due.

“Yeah. Like that one where the old man’s glaring daggers at the camera and mom’s all confused cuz’ she hasn’t clued in yet.”

Bruce chuckled.  “It’s cute; it makes a nice story.”

“I guess mom thought so too,” Tony chuckled along with him. “I mean, she kept the picture. That says a lot.” He looked at a while longer before turning the page.

“Not too many wedding photos. Old man hooked Steve Senior up with one of mom’s friends. Bridesmaid. Most of the pictures he took were of her and him, I heard. Dad almost didn’t let him be best man cuz of how much of a third wheel he could be sometimes. I guess the only solution he saw was to get the poor bastard laid. And then twenty some odd years later I gotta deal with his shithead offspring. Thanks, Dad.”

Bruce gave a snort of amusement; it was true, the young Steve Rogers could be a bit of a goody-two-shoes.  He inspected the photographs, noting that the ceremony and decor didn’t look terribly lavish, though neither was it tawdry-- Bruce could only conclude that it must’ve taken place _before_ Howard made his fortune.  The man was in a simple silver tuxedo, including cumberbund and bowtie.  Maria’s hair was down, in it a flowery tiara that attached to the veil, and wore a dress with large lacy shoulders that was narrow at the knees, but flared out into a circle at her feet.  “Your mom looks gorgeous,” he complimented.

“She always was...” Tony smiled sadly, after finishing a sip of his almost forgotten beer. He took a long puff of his cigarette and dropped the remainder into the now dirty glass, “Even when I’d jump in bed to wake her up in the morning.”

“Bet she appreciated that,” Bruce snorted, reaching over to drop his in with Tony’s.

“She never really complained. I know it sounds like I’m exaggerating, but she was just always so happy.” Tony sighed, eyes downcast, “We _all_ were. Back when we were still a we, anyways.”

Bruce frowned just a touch and looped his arm around his friend’s back, giving him a firm sideways hug.

Tony almost shrugged the arm off, but ultimately relaxed into it, appreciating the gesture for what it was. “Thanks,” he sighed out.  He didn’t want to stop yet.  He felt the stirring in his chest and ignored it, turning the page and pointing to the photographs on the next.

“So yeah, these are a few scattered vacation photos, some of my moms’ friends’ weddings, Dad goofing off with the camera...”  He turned the page one more, “and that’s Steven the First’s wedding and reception. Notice anything different about my mom?”

Bruce’s mouth pulled into a leer.  “You make your first grand appearance.”

Tony grinned, “That’s only her third month; that baby bump is seventy-five percent brain.”  He took another swig of his beer, starting to feel slightly buzzed.

“More like seventy-five percent bullshit,” Bruce gave the back of Tony’s head a shove.  The woman had to be in her third trimester from the size of her stomach, and if he had to guess, late in it.  Despite it, she was radiant, practically glowing, and Howard was holding her hand in a protective, proud fashion.

Recovering, Tony returned the shove, grinning, “Jealous.  Well anyways, during all of this things started getting better for them financially.  Dad’s work was really taking off, and lots of groups were interested in his research, he started getting a bunch of grants.  Mom said that me coming around brought good luck.  That being said, I didn’t wait much longer after that to show up.  I needed to make sure the new house had furniture first, but yeah.”

Bruce just shook his head.  Here he was, getting the condensed history of the Stark family, as told by its youngest member.  In a way, it really brought him perspective.  Tony's lineage might be famous, thanks to the efforts and success of his father, but otherwise the story could have been that of any other family.  The album was currently open to photographs taken in the hospital.  Several shots of Maria cradling her newborn son in the hospital bed.  A couple of Howard holding him as well.  Steven was still there, along with his wife, Bruce noticed with a chuckle.

“There’s your ugly baby, as promised,” Tony smirked. “Mom looks great though.  Never would’ve guessed the delivery’d been such a nightmare.  She apparently scared the shit out of the doctors when her heart started acting up in the delivery room.  She hadn’t had any symptoms growing up like I had, but she didn’t have a high-stress life or anything.  She ate healthy, did all the right things, I mean, she might not have liked to run much, as far as I heard, but still.  It really wasn’t ‘til then that it became a problem...”

The information made Bruce hesitate, mouth falling open as it dawned on him what Tony was implying.  He spoke seriously.  “Tony, don’t tell me you feel responsible for the onset of her condition.”

Tony didn’t look up, “I know it’s not my fault.  I mean if she’d never had the episode at all, then the problem might have never been caught.  She could have died later on without anyone knowing why unless something came up in an autopsy.”  Tony sighed, “Or she could’ve lived a long happy life and died a natural death with my dad on their fiftieth wedding anniversary and they both could’ve been happy.  And I’d...” Tony stopped himself.

“And you’d what?  Never have been born?” Bruce grabbed Tony’s shoulder to make him face him.  The other teen might be _saying_ he knew it wasn’t his fault, but his words and body language said the opposite.  “Listen to me, stop talking that way.  You shouldn’t beat yourself up,” Bruce insisted.  “There’s no way to know it wouldn’t have happened with or without the pregnancy.”

“It’s like I said.  I know it’s not my fault. That’s Grief 101.  My rational mind knows this shit!” Tony finished off his beer, slamming the bottle down, and giving Bruce a jump.  The edges of his vision were blurry and hot.  He wasn’t sure if he was tearing up or just drunk, though he had a feeling it was probably both, “But the other half is telling me I’m a fucking _thief_.  I stole her from my dad.  I stole the rest of her life from her!” he spat, finding it impossible to stop now that he’d started.  “I took my own mom away from me when I needed her, and I pushed my dad away by getting sick.  If he didn’t hate me already for killing her, he’d love me too much to risk getting attached.”

Bruce watched as Tony sucked in a hard breath, his friend’s eyes winced shut and practically trembling.  “And the twisted thing is I fucking _blame_ him for it,” he gestured his hand for emphasis, “when _all_ he wanted was to be happy with my mom.  If I hadn’t been born, I wouldn’t have to be alone all the time, because it wouldn’t have ever happened and I wouldn’t have deserved it!  And I--”

Bruce took his palm and slapped Tony across the face, shocking the other young man into temporary speechlessness.  “I said _stop_ ,” Bruce growled, his eyes swirling.  “You’re here now and you just have to goddamn own up to it.”

It came out a lot more harsh than Bruce might’ve liked, considering what he really wanted to tell his friend was that he cared about him, and that without him he’d be holed up in his room right now, attempting to block out his own painful past with whatever piece of literature he could get his hands on.  He could have even shared the fact that in some regards, he’d felt the same way Tony did on occasion, though obviously to a lesser extent.  That when he’d shown up and his mom started paying more attention to him and less attention to his father, that was when the beatings started happening... when his mother and father’s relationship began to deteriorate into the dysfunctional shamble it was now, hanging by some thread.  But, instead, he had snapped and he withdrew shamefacedly.  “Sorry,” he apologized, not looking up.

“It’s okay,” Tony’s voice was barely audible, and worlds away from its normally boisterous tone. He was holding a hand to his cheek.  “A year ago nobody would’ve been here to slap me.” Pepper would have simply told him not to feel bad and made him a cup of tea. Tony knew that Bruce knew better than to tell him what to feel.

“Next year...” 

_‘...am I gonna be alone again?’_

Tony picked his head up, finally making eye contact with Bruce after what seemed like an eternity. Those eyes were due to spill over, full of not only tears, but fear, desperation, pain and sorrow. That silent question left him, and in one shattering instant, those tears spilled over and he’d all but buried himself in his companion’s chest.

“I’m s-sorry.”

Bruce found himself in a now awkward position.  He cleared his throat and pushed up his glasses, almost as if stalling a moment to determine if Tony showed any signs of pulling back away.  But the other boy did not, clinging harder to his middle.  Wetting his lips, Bruce put his arms around his friend, patting his softly heaving back gently.  “You don’t need to apologize.  I get it.  It’s rough.”  He bit his lower lip.  He really wasn’t good at this whole... comforting thing, he recognized.  Bruce tried to think.  What sort of things did his mother use to say to him when he was upset?  He gave his friend’s back a gentle rub.  “Go ahead and let it out.”

“I just don’t want to make you...” Tony stopped. His thoughts were swirling and he couldn’t put a sentence together, “Please don’t go.”

Tony sniffled and followed up quickly, “I mean, no, I don’t mean tonight; I mean, yeah I know you gotta leave tonight, but I mean... That’s not what I mean... I...” Tony swallowed and took a deep breath before continuing, “I don’t want you to leave me alone again.” He felt very vulnerable after saying that, and he instinctively tried to cover it up, “I mean, Pepper would just sit around biting her thumbnail and telling me not to worry in between dates and student council and Phil would just be tailing me like a lost puppy, until Steve Junior runs for prom king. And yeah that’d suck.”

Bruce’s eyebrows drew down with slight confusion as the other teen devolved into random rambling.  “What could you do to make me ‘leave’?” he posed, and though he’d said it rhetorically, it was kind of a serious question, even though he hadn’t put much thought to it.  “We’re best friends, like you said.”  He rubbed his hands together awkwardly.  Tony’s friendship was one of the few things he had going for him in his life right now-- now that he had it... he honestly wasn’t sure what he’d do without it.  No way, no how would he give it up if he had any choice in the matter.

Tony sat silent, knowing in the back of his alcohol and grief-fogged mind exactly what he could do that might drive Bruce away, if he couldn’t get over the urge. Instead of an honest answer, he said what else he could, “I was the one who started this and I just don’t want to put all this weight on your shoulders and make you regret it all. There’s lots of cool people who would be missing out not having a buddy like you, especially if I made you regret reaching out and you, like, stopped doing it.”

The bit of flattery gave Bruce a small, brief chuckle, but he was more focused on the sentence that had come before it.  “You did start it,” he acknowledged with a nod, “I never would have gotten this far if it weren’t for you...” he paused and swallowed back a _‘I never would have dreamed I’d get this far‘_.  “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want it to keep going as much as you do.”  He looked at Tony and readjusted his glasses again, hoping his friend was getting this.

Tony squeezed tighter and nodded, not trusting his mouth to abstain from sharing exactly how far Tony’s anxieties were prodding him to go.  He held on as Bruce rubbed his back, relaxing enough to find some solace in the gesture. Normally he wouldn’t have been this wasted on so little, but what Tony had forgotten was how little he’d eaten in his depression. In fact, the chinese was the first meal he’d had since leaving Bruce’s that didn’t consist of a couple potato chips or a bottle of beer.

“This week was crap, always is...” Tony slurred sleepily into Bruce’s shirt, “But it was less crappy with you around. Thanks, big guy.”

Bruce chuckled.  “Yeah.  Well, you’re welcome,” he returned.  His friend was sinking lower and lower; he wondered if the other boy was on the verge of passing out right there in his lap.  “Hey, hey,” he attempted to rouse him with a small shake.

Tony let go of Bruce and sat back up, head in a thick fog of chemicals and bad ideas. His eyes were glazed, but never broke contact, his smile wide, dizzy and somewhat dangerous.  “You should smile all the time,” Tony slurred, head bobbing forward for a moment before he caught it, refocusing his gaze on Bruce’s lips, “I like it when you smile.”  He got one last smirk, leaning in to plant his mouth on his friend’s before his arms gave out beneath him and he slumped into pleasant unconsciousness.

Bruce blinked a couple times, as if registering that had really just happened.  “Uhh... Tony?  Tony?” he tried, shaking his friend, but the loud snore signalled it wasn’t any use.  Bruce gave a slightly frustrated sigh.  “Leave me the mess to clean up; thanks, jackass,” he mumbled, though a hint of endearment crept in through the words.  He paused for just a moment more, thoughts drawn back to what Tony had done just prior to passing out, but he shook his head, determining it equated to nothing more than too much alcohol.

Giving another sigh, Bruce hooked his arms beneath Tony’s armpits so he could at least stand up.  Once there, he readjusted his grip, letting Tony’s top half slump into one arm while sliding his other arm behind the backs of his friend’s knees-- he didn’t exactly think it would do to throw Tony over his shoulder again, at least, not unconscious like this.  Making sure to place his feet in front of one another, he descended the stairs and made the decision to turn in the direction of Tony’s bedroom, rather than depositing his pal on the couch.

The other boy’s room was potentially in more of a cluttered disarray than usual, Bruce noticed as he flipped on the lightswitch with an elbow.  He navigated to the bed and set Tony down on top of it, only to frown at the memory of what had happened two nights ago when the boy slept on top of the sheets-- and he wouldn’t be there to cuddle up on this time either.  After a bit of struggling and tugging of linens and pushing of limbs, Bruce managed to get his friend under the covers.  “You are so out of it, you know that?” he spoke to the other as he lifted his head and let it drop back down not even gently once he’d positioned the pillow beneath it.  He scanned the nearby desk with a furrowed brow until his eyes happened upon the young man’s alarm clock.  “You’ll probably curse me for this,” he said; picking it up, he set it to wake Tony in the morning for school and returned it to the desk.

Giving a nod to himself that this was at least in order, Bruce headed back for the door.  As he turned to flick off the switch behind him, his eyes happened to catch on the ceiling.  Tony had taped up several prints, and rather haphazardly at that, of his starscape back at home.  He must have found the time Saturday or earlier that day to download them from his phone, print them out and arrange them.  Half of him didn’t know what to think.  It was... sweet, if not a tad on the crazy side... and he didn’t want to imagine his drunk friend up on a ladder trying to put them up as had almost undoubtedly happened.  The other half of him felt compelled to point out the grotesque misplacement of constellations.  “You idiot,” he spoke to the unconscious Tony, “Virgo goes over there.”  He tsked and flipped the switch.

Bruce went back up to the attic to tidy things up.  In re-packing the box of keepsakes, he subconsciously left the photo album for last, pausing as he hovered it over the box as if weighing a decision.  Giving into his sentimentality, he propped it back in his lap and opened it up to browse what he hadn’t seen during the earlier perusal.

There were a _lot_ of pictures of Tony.  It quickly became clear how enamored of their child both Maria and Howard were.  Tony reaching for his spaceship mobile, Tony taking his ‘first steps’ towards his dad, Tony trying to put on a welding mask, Tony writing his first and last name, Tony playing with his Erector Set, Tony carrying a Transformers lunch box on his ‘first day of school’, Tony missing his front teeth, Tony winning First Place at the science fair.  It was Tony, Tony, and more Tony, and the sickening thing, Bruce realized, was that each one was somehow progressively more and more cute than the one before it.

“‘Ugly’, my ass,” Bruce rolled his eyes.  Young Tony potentially had the biggest, doe-eyed brown irises he’d ever seen on a child, and, he got the feeling, Tony had learned how to employ them against his parents and just about everyone thereafter.  Chuckling to himself, Bruce shut the album and placed it back in the box, closing the flaps and putting it back on the stack where it belonged.

He spent the next few minutes gathering the rest of the things left upstairs-- the chinese food and the beer bottles and the air freshener and the glass of mixed water and ash.  The carton of cigarettes too, which was just less than half full.  He went down the stairs, turning off the attic light behind him as he head down the hall to the kitchen.  He washed out the glass, put away the leftovers and tossed the bottles in the recycling bin.  The pack of smokes however... Bruce considered them, turning the little box over in his hands thoughtfully.

With a slightly guilty conscience that he tried not to think about, he slid them into the breast pocket of his shirt and went to go grab the backpack he’d shown up with.

Going through one last mental checklist that he’d done everything that could possibly need doing, Bruce let himself out.  Admittedly, he was still a little worried about his friend, but a good night’s sleep should fix him up, and besides, he’d see him tomorrow morning at school.  He slung his backpack over his shoulders and mounted his moped where he’d left it parked on the curb.  With one last glance at the house, he spoke a “Goodnight, Tony,” to the empty air, kicked up the stand and sped off.

\--

His mother was still up when he arrived home, sitting out in the living room curled up against the arm of the couch to read under the lamplight.  It was only a few minutes after ten o’clock, so it wasn’t any surprise she had not yet retired.  She heard him come in through the front door, naturally, and called out to him softly across the silent household.  “Bruce, honey, how was Tony’s?”

The boy removed his penny loafers, dropped his backpack in the entry, and padded over.  “Good.”

Rebecca smiled and slid her bookmark into the page before setting the novel down.  “What did you boys do?”

“Not a lot,” Bruce shrugged as he plopped into the armchair, but then he found himself adding onto that.  “Mostly hung out.  Had chinese.  Tony showed me his indoor pool and his guitars.”

“Oh, well that sounds fun,” his mother replied, setting her hands down in her lap to give her undivided attention to him.

The boy nodded.  “Yeah, it was.  I had no idea he could play.  I knew he liked listening to lots of classic rock, but he’s pretty good at playing too.  He played this one song--” he caught himself and looked up to see his mother beaming at him.  Bruce shifted his gaze to her empty teacup sitting on the side table beside her, clearing his throat.  “Did you want another cup?” he offered then, switching away from the subject of his friend.

“That would be lovely, sweetheart, thank you,” she accepted and he rose to pluck it up and take it to the kitchen.  “You’re welcome to pour yourself one as well... it’s decaf; I brewed lots.”

Bruce did just that, first pouring her cup and then one for himself.  It was a honey and blackberry variety, and it smelled delicious, still lightly steaming.  He brought them both back out.

“Thank you, sweetie,” Rebecca said upon taking the porcelain cup.  She took a quick sip as Bruce sat again.  “So you were saying your friend played you a song?”

The young man gave an embarrassed chuckle, setting his beverage aside and looking down again.  “Y-yeah,” he answered as his mind recreated the moment that had so captivated him down in Tony’s basement.  He wasn’t sure why, but his heart was pitter-pattering remembering it.  “He sang along to it too.  It had really...” he paused to wet his lips, “thought-provoking lyrics.”  Bruce scratched the back of his head and added in a shy mumble, “And he has a nice singing voice.”

Rebecca just smiled.  “The more you tell me about him, the more wonderful and talented he seems to me.”  She took a long drink.

Bruce stared down into his lap.  He wondered if his mother meant anything by that.  He’d spoken to her of Tony often, though he’d told himself it was because of her urging and curiosity and not because of his eagerness to share.  The truth probably lay somewhere in the middle.  He really liked Tony, and his company, so it was natural to want to share, like one would a good book they were reading.

He wanted to read Tony from cover to cover.  He wanted to read every last page, every last sentence, every last word, the annotations, the indices, the closing remarks.  And then he wanted to read him over and over and over, until he knew every line by heart and could quote the page number and paragraph on which it appeared.

It was kind of a startling realization.

Bruce carefully picked up his teacup and didn’t set it down again until he’d drained it.  Then he exchanged some final words, kissed his mother goodnight, and headed to bed to stare up at his starscape, wondering to himself, hope beyond hope, if Tony felt the same...


	10. Chapter 10

Pepper had managed to convince herself by morning that the phone call from the night before had been nothing but an elaborate joke on Tony and Bruce’s part.  A well-played one, but nonetheless, a joke.  And she bristled somewhat to think of the long laugh both boys probably had once she’d hung up.  If there was one thing Pepper disliked, it was being duped.  But she saw no reason to indulge their childish behavior in an attempt to ‘get even’; she would pretend it hadn’t happened and go about her day as normal.

As she proceeded down the hall towards her locker, heels click-clacking on the linoleum, she overheard the boisterous voice of Thor Ahlström, who, as usual, was telling the ‘glorious’ tales of his ‘exploits’ from his delivery runs the night before.  Mostly they involved ‘braving rampaging beasts’ and ‘hastening to win the approval of benefactors most generous’, with Jane and Darcy hanging off his every word like he was a god, which of course meant Pepper got to hear about the stories _again_ next time the two girls caught up with her in the hall or in the bathroom.  She rolled her green eyes.  Though they were incredibly annoying (not to mention superficial-- all they could talk about was Teddy’s blonde hair and blue eyes and most especially, his muscles), she had never found the heart to inform them that Theodore was most likely gay or completely oblivious to the other sex.

The girl began to twist in her locker combo, ignoring the rabble of high schoolers behind her.  However, Thor’s next words rammed their way into her ear like the striking of a gong.

“I kid you not, my friends!  He stood upon the entrance of Master Stark’s home in the _nude!_ ”

Pepper just about dropped her books.  She wheeled around.  “E-excuse me??”

Thor had been mid-breath when she spoke.  He closed his mouth and looked to her.  “Do you wish me to repeat it?  With my own eyes I saw Master Banner in lack of garment in his friend’s abode.”  The blonde paused a moment as it dawned upon him to whom he spoke.  “Oh, but fear not, Lady Potts, for t’was only a jest.  They told me so.”  He grinned oafishly.

“You’re _sure_ it was a joke?” Pepper prodded, feeling her fingers press harder into the textbook she was holding until they were nearly white.

“Verily.  Master Banner spoke of a ‘bet’; I am sure his victory was most sweet.”

The girl let out the breath she’d been holding.  A bet.  The whole thing had been a _stupid_ bet and she’d ended up being part of the wager when Tony lost.  Her lips pursed, pushing stray hair behind an ear, and she went back to roughly organizing her binders.  On the outside she looked frustrated, but more than anything she felt relieved.  Still, Tony’s ear could use a good chew, possibly even Bruce’s as well-- how her ex had gotten such a respectable young man involved in his tomfoolery was beyond her.  She didn’t know why all boys had to be so immature.

“Tell us again about the time you delivered that pizza to the spooky house on the hill in the dead of winter...” Darcy crooned, pawing her hand over Thor’s left pectoral.

“But the bell is about to toll harkening the commencement of our studies!  We must prepare!”

“Reaaally quick?” Jane Foster plead with him, clasping her fingers together and staring up at him, batting her long lashes.

“I cannot deny the entreaty of two fair and beautiful maidens,” he caved and the both of them squealed, bouncing up and down.

Pepper slammed her locker and moved for homeroom.  Once there, she handed off the spreadsheets and tallies she’d been working on before she was so rudely interrupted.  The teacher thanked her curtly for her continual outstanding book-keeping and told her to take a seat.  The girl did so, planting herself right beside Bruce Banner, who’s nose, as was to be expected, was buried in a book-- Flowers for Algernon, to be specific.  He did not notice her.

Pepper cleared her throat loudly.  “I thought better of you,” she delivered snippishly.

Bruce looked up.  He gave a somewhat sheepish chuckle, shrinking back a little.  “Yeah... sorry about that,” he apologized, only half looking at her.  “We, uh... got a little carried away.”

The girl wet her lips, wanting to say something like ‘I’ll say you did.’ but she was unable to really stay irritated at her ex’s friend.  She gave a sigh and leaned onto an elbow, poking her mechanical pencil against her notebook.  “It’s okay.  Just warn a person.”

“Next time, I’ll be sure to,” Bruce promised, dropping his voice a little when the teacher turned the TV to the morning news.

_‘Oh God, there’s a next time?’_ she thought but didn’t say it; she shouldn’t be surprised.

“You embarrassed the Hell out of him, while it lasted though,” Bruce couldn’t help but add, paying her the compliment and smirking just a tad.

“Good,” she nodded, looking straight ahead at the television screen.  “Deserves it.”

Bruce gave a long pause before choosing to call it into question.  “What for?”

Pepper sighed, rolling her eyes again in mock irritation, but her voice made her actual feelings evident.  “For making me worry so much.”

The teenage boy gave a hum of sympathy.  He could relate; seemed the both of them had been there in regards to Tony.

“But, I’m glad you were there for him yesterday,” the girl added.  “That he _let_ someone be there for him.”  Pepper shook her head.  “Sorry, I’m going on about nothing,” she quickly amended, though she didn’t realize that now, after yesterday, Bruce _knew_ why she’d been so worried these last few days.  He and Pepper were two of the only ones to know about the operation and Tony's condition and the loss of his mother.  The redhead motioned at his book, changing the subject.  “Flowers for Algernon?”

Bruce chuckled.  “Yeah, I decided to re-read it.”

“It’s one of Tony’s favorites,” she shared.

He nodded.  Seemed like a lot of the things Tony had told Pepper were now being entrusted to him as well.

Homeroom ended, which meant he was off to English and Tony would be there.  With any luck his friend had gotten his act together and didn’t look too disheveled; at least Bruce could hope.

\--

Tony shuffled sleepily into his AP English classroom, wincing at the harsh sound of the bell echoing through the hall and what felt like the inside of his skull as well.  He’d woken up that morning not sure whether he was hungover, or had simply been skull-fucked by Satan the evening prior.  He really couldn’t remember much... just that Bruce had spent the evening, they drank, had chinese, acted like total asses, and then he fell asleep at some point.  Most importantly, his friend had kept the night from turning into a complete emo-disaster like every other year.  For this Tony was grateful enough to forgive Bruce for setting his alarm and keeping him from sleeping in the next morning.

He slid into his seat with little to no grace and silently cursed the blinds for being open, as well as his homeroom teacher for confiscating his sunglasses.  He looked to his left, spotting Bruce. 

“Well, you’re alive; that’s good,” Bruce said.  Though he didn’t go far beyond that-- the other teen obviously hadn’t showered, and he was still wearing the same clothes as he had been yesterday.

“Yeah,” Tony said, which wouldn’t have meant much if not for the conversation they had shared the night prior.  “I had been planning to skip today, you know?  Sleep in, get drunk at the levee again, ignore everyone’s calls.  You ruined it.”  Tony smirked painfully through his migraine. 

“My bad,” Bruce issued the apology without a hint of actual remorse.  Though he was pretty sure Tony was joking.  So he joked back.  “Oh, by the way, Pepper says she never wants to speak to you again.”

“Pfft!  She was probably turned on.  Girls are weird like that,” Tony chuckled in response, before hissing and putting a hand to the bridge of his nose to pinch, “Ugh... I am never drinking again.”

Bruce felt an eyebrow lift, not believing that either; though Tony needed to keep his voice down, they really didn’t need that sort of attention.  He pulled his book up in front of his face, looking studious as he continued the conversation.  “‘Never’ as in ‘for the next week’?  I’d be surprised if you made it three days.”

Tony simply whined in response, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over his head in attempt to block out the light.

Bruce chuckled at the sight.  He dug around in his bag before pulling out a bottle of water, which he had specifically brought for this situation.  “Here,” he said, placing it on the other teen’s desk and then giving him a clap on the back.  “You’ll make it through.”  He then focused his attention on the teacher as lecture began.  Bruce wished Tony was serious... about giving it up, but he knew that was what everyone said when they awoke with a hangover, then later it was right back to it.  Human nature was a tough thing to overcome.

Tony took the water gladly, albeit at a turtle’s pace.  It was nice to know Bruce had been thinking ahead.  He assumed that he must have been quite a mess the night before to prompt such care from his friend, if his killer hangover wasn’t telling enough evidence.

Halfway into the lesson, Tony turned to whisper, “So what the hell happened last night?  Last I remember was being in the attic.  I woke up in my bed.”

The middle of class wasn’t exactly the best time to discuss this; though Bruce was surprised it had taken his friend this long to ask... sometimes Tony tried to jabber at him the entire class.  He finished a line of notes and pushed his glasses up.  “Yeah, I carried your ass down after you passed out in my lap,” he stated simply.  Of course that answer didn’t include the little extra bit of affection Tony had decided to bestow upon him just before conking out, but he figured that would be best left unsaid.  He really didn’t want his friend freaking out over something that was ultimately nothing.  Because knowing Tony, he would, and then quite possibly they’d both be sent to detention for interrupting class.

“Ah,” Tony responded, nodding, “Karmic retribution, I guess.”

Bruce grinned.  “Yeah.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot to say, my dad’s coming back home tonight.”  Tony peeked out from under his hood.  “He texted this morning something about doing dinner or something sometime.  I think he’s on some kind of father-son bonding kick.”  Tony held back a grimace at the thought, “Either that or he’s got some bad news to dump on me.”

“Well, that’s good, right?  That he’s trying,” Bruce clarified with a shrug.

“It’s not bad,” Tony assured his friend, “Just kind of... weird, I guess?  I mean we don’t fight or anything really, we just... co-exist?”  Tony gave an almost identical shrug.  “He was pretty vague... might not even happen.  But uh, he said I could bring a friend, though.”

Bruce tapped the lead of his pencil on his page, having lost track of lecture at this point.  “Well, if you want me along, just let me know.  I can get out of JC as long as I give the professors advance notice.”  Like he had done with the upcoming pep rally Friday (to the unawareness of his own father).  Tony hadn’t outright invited him, but he assumed he wouldn’t have brought it up if he wasn’t the ‘friend’ in mind.

“Tony?  Bruce?” their teacher cut in almost smugly, as if he were looking forward to an opportunity to call out two students at once, “Since you’ve already moved on to quiet conversation, maybe one of you could give us your definition of syntax?”

Bruce looked to Tony and Tony looked to Bruce, as if both were asking the other which would field the question.  “Syntax--” they both started simultaneously, then stopped.

“Go,” Tony gestured.

“You go, it’s fine,” Bruce shrugged.

“No no, I insist,” Tony leaned back in his seat.

“Either or, I don’t care _which_ ,” Mr. Cray interrupted, growing testy from what appeared to be stalling.  At this point all eyes in the classroom were on them.  The fact that a few of the girls were suppressing giggles wasn’t lost on Tony either; he smirked and blew them a kiss.

Bruce cleared his throat.  “Syntax is ‘sentence structure’, and how it influences the way a reader receives a written work.”

Tony followed up seamlessly, with little to no effort, “Syntax is important for establishing the tone of a piece, and the ‘attitude’ of the author or narrator.” 

_‘Much like a quick wit is when taking the wind out of a teacher’s sails...’_ Tony thought as he smirked back at Bruce.

The other boy did his best to keep from smiling back, but his lips curled just a tad in the corners.  He lifted a photocopy from his binder, which Mr. Cray had been going over on the blackboard.  “For instance, in our current reading assignment, the poet uses short, choppy dictum in congruence with flowery word choice to create a dissonance between how it reads on paper and how it sounds when read aloud.”

Tony considered tagging in again to finish up, but ultimately left Bruce to continue, since he seemed to have it covered.  Plus, it was rare that he saw Bruce so openly proud of his intelligence, or so taken by its disarming effect on others.  It was almost self-indulgent in a way, which isn’t a word he’d ever thought would apply to his bespectaled comrade.

“Each line holds power and brevity, but also conveys aloofness, which leaves us, the reader, struggling to conclude whether the author was serious or flippant in creating the piece.  In truth, we’ll never really know.  But, it makes for a good read.”

Slightly disarmed, Mr. Cray coughed into his fist.  “Yes, thank you, boys.”  Now having had his lecture pulled up by the roots, he quickly segued into some review material for an upcoming test.  The poor guy probably wouldn’t call on either of them the rest of the semester.

If brains could climax, Tony’s would be in dire need of a cigarette and a cold shower by now.  After such an unapologetic display of comprehension and wit, he’d concluded that if anyone had a mind to support a Tony Stark-sized ego other than himself, it would have to be Bruce Banner.

Meanwhile, Bruce buried himself in a book until the period ended.  When they got out to the hall to walk to their next classes was when Tony started raving about how awesome that had been.  “Okay, now I know I usually set the standard for epic, but, you!”  He turned around to face Bruce, seamlessly switching to backwards-walking as he pointed at his companion, “You mopped the floor with him.  I mean, look at you,” Tony gave him a shove with his elbow, grinning like a buffoon, “showing off in front of the whole class.  I knew you had it in you!”

Bruce snorted.  “I was not.  I was just answering his question.”

“Puh-lease,” Tony huffed back, slowing his stride so he could walk side by side with Bruce, “You were flexing that brain for the audience and you were _lovin’_ it.  I saw your eyes light up when you handed him his ass.”

“Ah, I think you confused me with someone else,” Bruce shook his head, smiling again.  Okay, maybe he’d taken some _small_ pleasure in axing the poetry reading section of class, but that didn’t mean he had to boast-- at least not when his friend was doing it for him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony dismissed, “Just don’t forget what they say about guys with big brains...”

An eyebrow lifted suspiciously, sensing another one of his friend’s raunchy and uncreative jokes.  “What’s that?”

Tony wiggled his eyebrows lewdly, “Big heads.”  Which was when Bruce slapped the back of his noggin.

\--

Tony knelt over the various large containers, pouring the last of the mixtures through a funnel. With a grunt of satisfaction at the results of his meticulous work, he tied off the end of the brightly colored globule and set it with the rest inside the last of the three coolers. He’d stocked the fourth cooler with sodas and various other snacks, as well as a couple sandwiches. He wasn’t sure whether there would be food at the bonfire, but odds are it wouldn’t be worth it, and he’d already packed their favorite stuff anyway.

Because of some recent changes to the school policy, their traditional pep rally and bonfire was actually being shared with Glendale, the rival school. They were apparently doing this in order to ‘discourage animosity’ and ‘promote healthy competition’ between the schools. As ridiculous of an idea as it was, Tony was glad he wouldn’t have any problem retaliating on the rowdier students of Glendale when they decided to cause damage.

Tony was surprised that the school board had done this, due in no small part to the persistent badgering from now Student Council President Steve Rogers.  Tony cringed.  He couldn’t believe he’d actually voted for him.  But between him and Loki Ahlström (whose sole campaign slogan was “Kneel.”), Tony had come to the regrettable conclusion that it was better to vote for an accidental douchebag than an intentional one.

It was no small effort to lug the four coolers into the back seat of the ‘stang (especially due to the instability of their cargo... if he wasn’t careful, he’d have one Hell of a mess to clean up), but Tony managed, and once he had them secured safely for travel, he sent the routine text to Bruce that he was on his way, before hopping into the car.  Almost as an afterthought, before starting the car, he sent a text to his dad telling him he was heading out, and the nearly instantaneous reply of _‘Have fun.’_ almost made him smile.  Maybe Bruce was on to something about him.

\--

Bruce heard the two beeps outside that let him know Tony had arrived.  Grabbing his backpack and slipping his bomber jacket over his arms, he exited through the garage, ducking underneath the bay door before keycoding it back down behind him.  Tony waved at him as he came down the driveway towards the mustang.

“Do me a favor and don’t take off like a bat out of Hell this time; my dad still thinks I’m going to JC tonight,” Bruce said as he dropped himself into the passenger seat.

“Aww...” Tony pouted like a child who had his favorite toy taken away from him, “Fine.  But the top’s stayin’ down.”

“Of course.  Even if it’s November, I couldn’t deny you your stylish arrival to a school event.”  He paused, eying his friend knowingly.  “So what’s it going to be this time?  Are you going to blast Pink Floyd through the stereo?  Do you have a megapack of single-ply toilet paper in the trunk?” he made a couple of off-hand guesses.  There was no way Tony Stark was going to miss out on an opportunity to make his mark with so much of the student body present to see it.

“Nah, just a couple tin cans strung along the back bumper,” Tony delivered flatly.

“Yeah?  Then what’s in these?” Bruce started to ask, reaching to lift the lid on the nearest cooler, before Tony smacked his hand away.

“Classified materials, Banner,” Tony said, tone of voice almost secret agent-esque.

Bruce rubbed the back of his hand.  “I didn’t know nuclear warheads could fit in an Igloo.”

“You know too much already,” Tony shot back in his too-serious voice, “You’ve got a bright future, kid.  You don’t want to be deemed an accessory when this shit hits the fan.”

“Fine,” Bruce relented, resting his arm on the door’s edge.  “Keep me in the dark then.”  He was sure to find out sooner or later as the evening progressed.  His eyes widened then as a thought struck him.  “Tony, it’s not alcohol, is it?”  His tone transitioned to a sterner one.  “Because this is a _school_ function--”

“It’s not alcohol; chill!” Tony snapped, pausing wide eyed before sighing in disappointment at his own reaction, “Look, I know you’ve caught me in a few bad places, but I’m not the kind to just get smashed wherever.  I have my coping mechanisms.  I’m not an alcoholic or anything.”  Tony mentally face-palmed.  That was exactly what an alcoholic would say.  And now Bruce would worry.

Bruce nibbled the inside of his lip.  He _was_ relieved that his friend hadn’t decided to tote along four coolers of beer to distribute among the student body, but he’d wanted to discuss this particular topic for awhile, so it might as well be now.  “Okay, when was the last time you had a drink?”

Tony rolled his eyes. Yep, it was going there.

“Besides the three before I picked you up?” Tony hid behind a joke, but Bruce’s frown sombered him into honesty, “Ehh... one after I got home from school on wednesday.  I was thirsty.  What does it matter?”

“And yet on Monday I distinctly recall you saying you’d ‘never drink again’...”

“Bruce, there’s a difference between ‘drinking’ and having a beer.  Sunday night we were ‘drinking’.  We.  As in so were you.  Wednesday night I had a beer.”

Bruce clicked his tongue.  “Wednesday night or Wednesday after school, which was it?”

“So I had more than one.  Big deal.”  Tony knew he was losing this.  He couldn’t even keep his story consistent.  Sighing, he decided to surrender.  He trusted Bruce, didn’t he?

“I’m used to being left to deal with my problems alone, and I don’t have the best ways of dealing.”  He took another breath, “You’re... good for me.  But old habits are kind of hard to break.  Plus, if you ever lea--”

“You’re like a broken record,” Bruce shook his head, “No wonder Pepper gets so exasperated with you.  I said we’re best friends.  You don’t have to worry about me leaving.”  He mumbled sardonically into his palm, “Though, maybe you don’t remember that because you were already pretty wasted by that point...”  It wouldn’t be the _only_ thing Tony didn’t remember from that evening.  Bruce wet his lips subconciously upon the thought.

Tony’s eyes widened, but his face quickly twisted into a puzzled expression.  He tried to ignore the buzzing in his chest when he asked, “When... when did you say _that?_ ”

Bruce’s lips pursed.  “Which brings us back to my concern.”  He readjusted his glasses, trying to keep his voice even.  “I’m not suggesting you can’t have a drink every once and awhile, or even have a few when we’re hanging out in a controlled environment, but the binge drinking _has_ to stop.  I care about you, and I hate to see you trash yourself repeatedly.”

Under normal circumstances, Tony would have argued his side further, but to hear something that reaffirming from Bruce had weakened his resistance.  He decided that maybe he could compromise if the big guy really meant it that he was sticking around long term.

“If it means that much to you, fine.”  Tony pouted, “Not a single beer downed in grief if you can’t help it.  Cross my heart.”  He held out his hand for Bruce to shake.

“Alright.”  The other teen took his hand firmly and shook.  His hands were surprisingly warm for the November night, Tony noticed absently.

“Now that that’s been settled, we can focus on watching wood burn and pretend to give a crap about what team wins the football game.”  He turned the key and pulled away from the curb.  “As for what’s in the coolers, they’re countermeasures.  Glendale’s known for their pre-game pranks and they’re probably going all out this year since they’re sharing a bonfire with the Bilge Snipes.”  Tony’s face scrunched up at the mention of their school football team’s ridiculous name.

An eyebrow climbed upward on Bruce’s head.  “Wait... Glendale’s going to be at the bonfire?” he sounded not quite conflicted, but unsettled nonetheless.  He’d missed that memo.

Tony rolled his eyes, “Yeah, it’s a ‘unity bonfire’ or some shit.  Blame President Rogers for that one.  He said forcing us to mingle with the rival school would help to ‘foster mutual respect’, because hey, it worked wonders with the Christians and the lions.”

Bruce lifted his hand to rub the back of his neck.  “I used to go to Glendale.”

“Really?” Tony’s eyebrows raised slightly.  Sure he hadn’t noticed Bruce before sophomore year, but it was a big school.  He couldn’t be expected to know everyone (even if everyone knew him).  “So wait; I thought you lived in that house your whole life?”

“I have; it’s pretty close to the border of the school district and I was going to Glendale at first...” Bruce shrugged.

“Makes sense.”  Tony nodded, “But why’d you leave?  Library run out of good books?”  

Bruce snorted a laugh, then cleared his throat a little awkwardly.  “I uhh... got kicked out.  Freshman year.  Transferred to Westmore.”

“Oh ho ho, this oughta be good!” Tony grinned, wriggling about in his seat, “The Hell did you do?”

Bruce shook his head at his friend’s reaction.  “You’re aware that _most_ people wouldn’t regard getting expelled as a good thing, right?”  He pushed up his glasses, face almost a wince.

“You are aware most people aren’t in my car right now, right?” Tony shot back, “And if they were they’d do well to have a juicy ‘how I got expelled’ story ready or else I’d be forced to stop the car.”

Bruce’s eyes rolled at Tony’s smart-assery.  He shook his head a second time.  “I’m not particularly proud of it,” he mumbled.

“Well I know you only beat on two kinds of people, and considering that I’ve never been to Glendale High, I’d imagine whoever it was actually deserved it.”  Tony paused for some thought, “Unless you got caught doing something worse.  Oh!  Like masturbating in the library or something.  God, what a mess that would’ve been.  All the pages in the Encyclopedia Britannica stuck together.  Shit, what a fiasco.”

Bruce grumbled louder.  “Alright, jackass, that’s enough.”  If Tony’s teasing was supposed to make him want to cough up the info, it wasn’t working well.

“Or you could’ve gotten caught trying to up-skirt the cheerleading squad from under the bleachers...  Yeah.  Totally sounds like you.  Holy crap...” his eyes grew wide and stunned, “you _cheated_ on a test, didn’t you??”

“I said _enough_.”  Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a loud sigh of irritation.  He knew his friend was just playing around and trying to make things more light-hearted, and on other subjects it might’ve worked, but right now it was rubbing him the wrong way.

“Sorry, I’ll let it go,” Tony backpedaled, “I didn’t realize it was that serious.”

“Listen... I just...” Bruce’s head drooped down with exasperation before lifting back up to regard his friend imploringly, “I don’t want you to think I’m a bad person, okay?  It was... bad.  I was pretty out of control back then...” he mumbled dejectedly.

Tony swallowed, letting go of the steering wheel with his right hand to rest it on Bruce’s shoulder, “I’d never think you’re a bad person.  Stubborn and pig-headed maybe, but not bad.”

Bruce shut his eyes, appreciating the small amount of contact between them.  “Yeah, but you didn’t exactly know me back then either.”

“I know you now.  Who gives a fuck about freshman year?” Tony paused, “Okay, fine, I asked, but shut up about that.”

Bruce managed a small smile.

“But seriously, what kind of progress can you make if you get all mopey and self-loathing about how you were two years ago?  Relaaax,” Tony reassured his friend, dragging out the last syllable.  He turned the ‘stang into the lot, but parked them away from the crowd on the outskirts so Bruce wouldn’t feel pressured.

Wisdom was a rare thing from Tony, but Bruce couldn’t deny that this was one of those rare times when he gave advice worth listening to.  He dropped his hands into his lap, fiddling his thumbs against one another anxiously.  “It was pretty late into the year,” he led in, committing himself to telling the story.  “April, I think?  I was pissed off.  The stupidest thing is, I can’t even remember about _what_.  It wasn’t even anything in particular; I was always fucking pissed off.  About _everything_.”

Tony listened, but kept quiet, watching his friend from across the bench seat.  He could almost see the rage clawing its way through the surface of the calm Bruce put on.  His body was tight, like all his tendons were pulling against one another.

“I was pissed kids were avoiding me.  I was pissed the teachers were treating me like some kind of mental patient.  I was pissed Mom wouldn’t leave my dad.  I was pissed I’d even been born into my shit family in the first place and had to put up with it all.”  Bruce let out a long breath.  Though he’d long since gotten over said vexations, it felt good to finally say it.  He motioned his hand.  “This girl walks into me in the hall, some freshman, just like me.  She was a nice person, from what I remember, just a little ditzy; she hadn’t been watching where she was going and she ran smack into me.”

Tony bit his lip; he could see where this was going.  It would’ve made his blood boil to see someone hit a girl, but he knew it wasn’t the same Bruce that was telling the story.

“My blood was already pumping, I needed something to vent my frustrations and she made herself a target.  When I got done with her, I went after her friend, and after that, the teacher that tried to intervene.”  Bruce paused, wetting his lips.  “I already had three strikes against me from earlier in the semester, so it wasn’t any big surprise they gave me the boot.”  His eyes slid shut again, remembering coming home that day and breaking the news to his mother and father.  It had been the worst day of his life.  He could still see his mother’s tearful disappointment and his father’s abhorrence.  He scratched his nails across the armrest, trying to force the memory away.

Tony was quiet for a full minute, unsure of whether to voice his thoughts.  When he spoke up, in spite of his near-silence, the words cut through the silence like a knife, “Well all damages aside, it’s a good thing it happened.  I can’t imagine how many kinds of fucked I’d be if you hadn’t come to this school...”

Bruce’s face rearranged into a soft smile.  “There is that.”  He paused a moment.  It had been positive in more than one way.  The event had forced him to re-think the direction his life was heading and start addressing his emotional instabilities head-on.  It hadn’t been easy at first to keep a lid on things, and sometimes, as Tony well knew, he still slipped up from time to time, but he’d improved since those younger years.  And, still was, largely thanks to the boy beside him, who was arguably the best thing to happen to him.  Bruce looked up at his companion.  “I know I haven’t ever stated it explicitly but... I’m really glad we’re friends, Tony.”

Tony plastered on an immediate return smile.  Being friends was good, he reminded himself, and it was something he probably should be careful not to muss up by letting his overactive imagination get carried away.  He put a muzzle on the ever-present dirty side of his mind before responding.  “Same here, big guy.”

A period of silence followed where neither seemed to have anything to follow up with before Bruce cleared his throat again.  “So, do you want help carrying your ICBMs?” he hooked his thumb at the coolers.

“They’re water balloons, not WMDs.”  Tony rolled his eyes.  “And yes, that’d be appreciated.  Careful; they could pop if you’re rough with ‘em.”

“Did you really need so many?” Bruce asked as he got out and reached over the side of the car to grab the handles of the one nearest him.  He hefted it up and out.

“Yes,” Tony said without elaborating, “And it took me a long ass time to fill those, so don’t go breaking them.  Oh, and technically, they aren’t ‘water’ balloons, because they’re not filled with water.”  The teen reached in and grabbed one as well, lifting with a little more effort than his pal.

Bruce lowered his chin to look at Tony over his glasses; it wasn’t quite a look of disapproval, but it was close.  “And just what’s in them?” he asked, now more aware of the sloshing inside the icebox he was carrying towards the entrance.

“They’re color-coded.”  He opened up the cooler he was carrying to show him; Bruce’s eyebrows drew up at the assortment.  Tony pulled out a swollen purple balloon, “This is grape soda.”  He held up a red balloon in his other hand, grinning, “Hawaiian Punch.”  He continued going down the line, “This black one’s a mix of malt vinegar and soy sauce from leftover chinese.  Orange is Tobasco sauce, and the brown one?  Chocolate milk...”

“And you’re saying these are counter-measures,” Bruce interrupted to clarify, wanting to make sure his friend wasn’t planning to lob the first ‘grenade’, so to speak, and instigate all-out chaos.

“I’m saying that if Glendale plans on making a mess, they sure-as-shit better be prepared to come away dirty,” Tony put his hands on his hips proudly, as if posing for a picture for his adoring fans.

Bruce chuckled.  “Well, that ought to do it.”  He spotted another color.  “What’s the yellow...?” his voice had a suspicious lilt to it.  If Tony said urine...

“Apple juice.  Yeesh, I’m not _that_ gross.  C’mon.”  He jammed the lid back down on the cooler.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch the cheers here!:  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mTNqVC5NirU  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mObPWtiGrzs

A lot of students had come early, in groups chatting or helping out. Organizers were still setting up the large pile of wood and tinder to be burned in the pit, along with folding chairs encircling it. There was plenty of space to sit further out though on the grass. Several booths were up, some advertising local venues or radio stations, some promoting awareness of community involvement opportunities, others recruiting for the upcoming Spring sports like lacrosse and track, and of course there were the booths selling food and drinks as fundraisers. It was quite the goings-on. “Where are we sitting?” Bruce asked, his brown eyes flicking around behind his glasses.

“Over there looks good,” Tony motioned at an unoccupied spot on the grass with his chin. They headed over. The pep rally hadn’t quite started yet, and in the distance one could hear Thor and a few other members of the football team warming everyone up with what sounded like camp songs. Tony set down his cooler roughly, narrowly missing his own toes. “Bruce, is he singing ‘Ninety-Nine Bottles of Mead on the Wall’, or am I having auditory hallucinations?” he stuffed a pinkie in his ear.

“I’m pretty sure he is. Though there’s the marginal possibility we’re both having the same hallucination.”

The crowd finished the sing-along with a loud collective roar before dying down, the ladies scooting up to be as close to Thor as possible (including, of course, Jane and Darcy who were rarely ever more than a few short feet away). “Gather, fellow mates of study!” the blonde swept out his arms, row of teeth wide on his maw like a grinning lion. “For tonight, I tell the tale of how the Bilge Snipes came to be so named.” He was punctuated by a chorus of squeals from his female fanbase. 

“OH WHO CARES?!” came a loud shout from someone over in the Glendale crowd. A few laughs followed.

“Oh here we go,” Tony grumbled, gesturing towards the Glendale students, “See what I mean?” Bruce merely hmm’d.

Upon hearing such vicious jab thrown at the proud Bilge Snipes, and of further importance, his _tale_ , Thor found himself quite vexed, if one were to put it lightly. Those undignified wretches had been a thorn in his side since before known memory. He wished he could freely sever the disrespectful tongue from each of their snarling jaws. Oh how woesome was fate that he had chosen to retire his mighty hammer at home in its glass case for the Eve of Bon’fyre festivities. “Mind thy ‘fucking’ tongues, impudent swine droppings!” he growled in response, pointing a finger of warning at them.

“Ahlström!” one of the educators barked out.

“Understood, Elder Warner!” Thor responded, humbling himself. It was only then had he noticed among the passersby two faces with which he had previously shared acquaintance, making their way to the chariot lot. He called unto them, irritation forgotten in favor of great gaiety, “Master Stark! Master Banner!”

Thor rose with haste and breached the distance between them. “Oh Jesus Christ!” Tony exclaimed, making failed attempt at shelter behind Bruce as the football champion charged toward them. He captured the both of them in a mighty hug, “It pleases me greatly to see you, friends! Have you come to partake in the festivities?”

“Uhh sure; as soon as my feet can touch the ground again,” Tony ground out.

“It’s good to see you again too,” Bruce wheezed a reply.

“Oh. Apologies, friends!” Thor uttered sheepishly, releasing them, “I seem to have forgotten my own strength once again.”

Bruce fixed his spectacles that had been knocked off-kilter. “We’re just here to watch,” he informed the other student.

“Ah, well there shall be much merriment to behold this night!” Thor swept out his arms, then made a fist, pumping his arm and slamming it to his chest. “Our courageous spirit shall strike fear into the hearts of our foes and ensure us certain victory!”

“How’s about you go on and get back to that?” Tony suggested, none too kindly. “I’m sure everyone is _dying_ to hear your story.”

Theodore’s blue eyes widened. “The tale of our honorable mascot! How could I forget? Forgive me, friends, I must depart,” he bowed to them both and hurried off.

Tony’s eyes rolled as they resumed heading out to the parking lot. “Give a guy _one_ beer, and he follows you around like a puppy dog. Thanks a million, Bruce.” He paused and resumed. “Then again, if what Pepper thinks is true,” Tony stroked his goatee as a cheshire’s grin replaced his own, “It’s probably not the beer that’s got him following us.” He winked and Bruce just chuckled.

As Thor departed to spin his grand tale, Bruce turned to Tony dubiously, “Do I want to know how the Bilge Snipes got their name?” All he knew was that it was a fantastical creature found in Norse mythology.

Tony snorted, “It’s actually a good one, believe it or not. I’ll give you the short version. We used to be Westmore Warlocks, but a few religious groups who’d ran out of Harry Potter books to burn and had kids in our school district raised Hell about it, so a naming contest was held from grades seven to twelve, because those were the schools that had been using the Warlock name. So fast-forward about six months when the entries are being reviewed, and the only coherent and descriptive entry that isn’t a picture of a penis or something of that nature, is about some made-up animal called the ‘bilge snipe’. They were anonymous entries, but Thor was pretty quick to take all the credit even before it was announced as the official mascot. Turns out the board liked how detailed the description was. And seeing how they were imaginary, and not a picture of human genitals, they couldn’t really offend anyone either. Thor even designed the uniform logos.”

Bruce shook his head, amused, “That guy has too much imagination for his own good.”

“Tell me about it,” Tony chuckled.

“So, Theodore asked but... what _are_ we doing here?” Bruce asked his friend as they bent to grab the final two coolers. When Tony had asked him along, he’d accepted to please the other boy without much thought as to _why_ Tony had done so. He went on. “You don’t exactly seem the big ‘school-spirit’ type.”

Tony stuck his tongue out in disgust, “Hell no. Pepper’s on the squad. I came to support her, or at least watch. Not really sure how one supports cheerleading. Its sole purpose is to be the support for the football, baseball, basketball or whatever team and their respective audience. If the supporters need support then the system’s kind of fucked, don’t you think?”

“I think it’s more of an ‘appreciation’ thing,” Bruce theorized with a shrug.

“Heh heh, yeah...” Tony agreed fondly, grinning wider. Though he assumed Bruce was using appreciation in a different context than he was, “Sorry, I’m straying from the subject again.”

“That’s typical for you,” Bruce responded with a smirk. He gave the container in his arms a wobble. “It just seems weird you brought ‘counter-measures’ to an event you don’t care about.”

“I’m not doing it for the school, really. I’m not pro-spirit; I’m just anti-douchebag,” Tony shot back. “If you’re going to pull a prank, that’s fine. But you shouldn’t intentionally hurt anyone in the process.” Tony slammed the cooler down beside the others, his jaw and fist clenched even at the indirect mention of what had happened.

Bruce’s eyebrows lifted. He found it unusual to witness righteous outrage from his friend. “Did something happen?” he asked, setting his own down gently and taking a seat on the top of it.

“Summer before Sophomore year, one of the girls who was on the middle school track team died in a car accident. She was hit by a drunk driver. Her name was Kate, and she was a friend of Pepper’s. We were still dating back then, and she was pretty devastated by it. Went to the funeral with her and everything.” Tony paused, trying to calm himself before telling the rest.

“That’s unfortunate,” Bruce spoke softly; he hadn’t heard of the incident.

“So come November, just before Thanksgiving, we have the big rival game with Glendale like every year. And there was a group of those fuckers, with messages on their cars, shirts, and some of them even had signs.” He stopped again, seething. “They’d enlarged her yearbook photo, put her date of death and the subtitle was ‘Drive home safely, Westmore.’! I had to drive Pepper home because she couldn’t stop crying. Some people make me sick.”

Bruce’s nose wrinkled. “That is pretty tasteless.” He peered over at the crowd of his old school sitting on the opposite side of the fire pit. “Well, hopefully your counter-measures won’t have to be implemented.”

“Yeah, well I won’t be starting anything on my own. I’m too good for first punches.” He opened the lid and pulled out a large blanket, tossing it over the coolers to discourage curious students from taking a peek.

A bus pulled in and stopped near the entrance, opening its doors. Pepper emerged from the throng of cheerleaders filing out, her red hair drawn back into a tight ponytail and holding two pom-poms in Westmore’s school colors which were slightly larger than those held by the other girls, denoting her lead cheerleader status. She stopped, scanning the crowd, and when she located the two boys chilling towards the back, her green eyes lit up. The girl hurried over. “There’s the picture-perfect little gay couple!” she announced with a wicked smile.

“He did tell you how great I was right?” Tony picked the joke up where Pepper left off. Though he was ninety-nine percent sure Bruce would play it straight-edged and drop the ball.

“Yes, Tony, you should be _so_ proud,” Pepper rolled her eyes with a little smile. “I’m glad you two could make it.”

“He was pretty insistent,” Bruce looked over at his friend almost suggestively, as if he had been ‘coerced’ into making it.

“Always nice to have a piece of candy for each eye,” Tony grinned.

Pepper gestured to Bruce with her pom-pom. “I’ll let you.”

The boy reached up and slapped the back of Tony’s head forward.

“He likes it rough,” Tony said as if he were explaining away a love bite.

“And apparently in the buff, if Teddy Ahlström is a reliable witness.” She raised a challenging eyebrow at her ex. Bruce cleared his throat.

“Don’t let him catch you calling him Teddy,” Tony warned, dodging the subject. He proceeded to puff out his chest and quote Thor word for word, in an almost spot-on impersonation, “Teddy?! I am deserving of nothing less than noble designation! ‘Teddy’ is nought but a mere stuffed bear; Thor is the God of Thunder!” Bruce chuckled at the impression.

“Oh, what’s he going to do? Wave that hammer of his at me?” Pepper put both hands on her hips, the pom-poms shaking with the motion. “His little brother’s pointy glowstick is more scary.” She shook her head. “We have the weirdest foreign exchange students.”

“Well, if we were a few years older we could probably round up the space cadets and give remedial lessons,” Tony said smugly.

“Not to deride the remedial education system,” Bruce butt in, “but no amount of teaching could bring them up to speed.”

_’Virginia!’_ Pepper heard her name called across the grounds.

“That’d be you,” Tony cleared his throat, leaning closer to speak in hushed tones, “You gonna be okay?”

Pepper’s face softened and she nodded appreciatively. Bruce leaned back, watching the exchange mindfully. The two had a lot of history together, and it showed in all their subtle words and actions.

“Well, I brought some early ‘Christmas gifts’ for those Glendale fucks if things get... disrespectful.” He paused, before smirking confidently, hoping it would encourage her as much as his words might. “Keep your head up, babe.”

Pepper beamed at the term of endearment; it alone gave her the will-power to drive tonight’s performance home. “Don’t put yourself in danger for me, Tony,” she expressed, leaning down to peck her old flame on the cheek. Tony pulled her into a hug before sending her off. Old habits did die hard, but at least he was being a gentleman about it.

“Good luck with the cheers,” Bruce imparted as she gave a wave with her pom-pom and hurried away to join her fellow cheerleaders.

“I think she’d be up for a three-way. At least that’s what I gathered from that conversation,” Tony mused.

Bruce issued a snort. “I don’t think she’s into me.”

Tony swallowed. He probably said something a little more telling than he should have. Thinking quickly he tried his best to cover up. “You’re not following at all, are you? Every time she’s spoken to me in the past two weeks it’s been ‘Bruce and you,’ ‘You and Bruce.’. Even now she basically greeted us as a couple. It’s wishful thinking. She wants a genius sandwich, and I’d have half an amazing, over-developed mind to give it to her too.” Even Tony found that to be a somewhat plausible explanation.

“You are a piece of work,” Bruce shook his head, looking straight forward at the girls assembling in the center area and doing his very best _not_ to picture what his friend was suggesting.

“You mean you wouldn’t?” Tony asked incredulously before twisting to unload the cooler, tossing Bruce a sandwich. He then set out a couple bottles of soda, a bag of chips and a sandwich for himself, “Don’t insult my exes. That’s a direct attack on my personal taste.”

“You never did get back ‘Raunchy Red-heads’,” Bruce mumbled as the sound system crackled to life. He pulled apart the ziplock to nudge the sandwich halfway out of the baggie and took a bite.

_‘I never got any of them back, but thanks for the tell, Bruce,’_ Tony thought to himself as he smirked darkly at the rare bit of information.

“Welcome students of Westmore and guests of Westmore!” came the introductory words from none other than the new Student Body President, Steve Rogers. “I’d like to ask everyone to settle in and find their seats so we can get our Unity Bonfire underway!” He punched the air in front of him chipperly.

“Oh dear God he has a microphone...” Tony groaned, feeling around for that bag of chips he’d pulled out earlier, hand brushing against Bruce’s blindly. Their hands retracted nervously for a split second then, as if they’d both mentally chastised themselves for overreacting at the same time, they settled back down on top of each other. Tony forgot about the chips and just glared in Rogers’ general direction.

“UNITE THIS!” a Glendale student lobbed a roll of toilet paper at Rogers’ head, which unravelled as it sailed through the air.

Steve dodged to the side, keeping his cool; he wanted to lead this assembly smoothly and peacefully, “Nice toss. Try out for the football team next year, son!” he chuckled, hiding most of his nerves behind a white-toothed smile and a big thumbs-up. “So now let’s give a big round of applause to our cheerleading squad, led by the talented and lovely Pepper Potts!”

“Keep your eyes on the crowd, Red White and Blue-balls...” Tony grumbled. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t completely over her, but it was more like a kid not wanting to give a toy away even when he was done playing with it. Tony’d never claimed to be mature.

The Westmore side erupted in raucous cheering; less so from the other side, though there was some supportive clapping. ‘Run Devil Run’ by Ke$ha began to play from the speakers and the cheerleaders began their routine, dancing to the beat and waving their pom-poms back and forth. They re-enacted the lyrics loosely, running in place to each chorus and pointing on the ‘you’s. They switched fluidly between a line-up and a V and groupings of threes. As the song faded out, they each took their own signature pose.

The schools broke out into applause, a few calls for an encore among it. The girls took their bows. It seemed even the rude kids from Glendale could appreciate the performance.

“The Hell did she find time to learn that in between spreadsheets?” Tony mumbled after he’d finished clapping and the crowd died down.

Bruce lowered his hands back into his lap. “Well, since she’s no longer dating the handful that is you, she probably has plenty of freetime,” he needled.

“That’s a fallacy. Completely logically unsound,” Tony snipped back.

“It seems plausible to me.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, “So you’re saying if I stopped hanging out with you, you’d learn how to dance like that?”

Bruce readjusted his glasses pointedly. “No. Now _that’s_ a fallacy.”

“And for your information, I taught Pepper _plenty_ of moves while we were dating,” Tony added with a shit-eating grin, “You just can’t use them in public.”

“Thanks for sharing,” Bruce deadpanned.

The Glendale cheerleaders started their routine, and Tony stood, losing interest already. He pointed a thumb in the direction of the port-o-potties, “I’m gonna go take a piss. He stood up, pushing himself up with the hand that was touching Bruce’s. He’d forgotten it was there. He shrugged it off mentally and set off, turning to call back a ‘be right back’ to his friend.

Bruce nodded in acknowledgement, continuing to watch the performers as he cracked open a ginger ale. It was pretty obvious the Glendale girls were attempting to one-up the Westmore squad, throwing some aerial acrobatics into their number. Pepper was standing off on the sidelines, arms folded and hip cocked, looking frustrated. When they got done, the volume of the Invaders was ear-splitting, a few jeers of ‘SUCK IT!’ and ‘BILGE SNIPES DROOL!’ discernable through the rabble. Looking unable to stand it any longer, the redhead stalked over to Steve, who looked surprised when she began to whisper aggressively into his ear.

“I uh... I’m being informed our school has another routine in store!” Steve announced into the microphone, looking all at once sheepish and utterly confused, but he still had that award-winning smile plastered across his smooth-shaven face. “It must have not made it onto the schedule due to a type-setting error,” he forced a laugh, folding up a pamphlet.

“Why do they get a second act?!” yelled an angry female from the rival school.

Steve smiled apologetically and clicked off his microphone for lack of reply.

“The fuck is going on?” Tony asked, jogging back to the blanket.

“Your ex bullied our ‘prez’ into another routine,” Bruce replied, taking a long draw from his beverage.

“They’re goin’ again? Oh sweet. I can hold it then. Move over, big guy,” he urged, motioning for Bruce to scoot. He did, but Tony still bumped into his side as he sat eagerly. “Kick ’em in the taint, Pep!” Tony shouted through cupped hands, before giving a howl. Bruce rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help but give a snicker as well.

Pepper led her squad back out to the center and gave the DJ a high sign. They took their positions in three staggered lines with Pepper in front and the bass began to thump, auto-tuned ‘oh’s feeding into the lyrics. All at once the cheerleaders began to jerk their bodies up and down, side to side, sweeping out their arms almost as if their limbs weren’t connected to the rest of them. Simultaneously their feet skimmed across the ground as if were skating on ice, stepping in a continuous complicated pattern, yet none of them missed a move or fell out of sync as the electronic tune grooved. Screams of approval and enthusiasm motivated them on-- for a cheer routine, it was lengthy, and one could see sweat starting to sheen on the skin of the females as they continued to give it their all. They broke formation for the final remaining seconds, the two strongest girls coming together to join hands so Pepper could step onto their conjoined arms and be boosted high into the air with a spin. They caught the redhead’s feet and balanced her above their heads such that she towered over the crowd in pyramid formation, as the other cheerleaders to either side performed either the splits or a backflip and then the music cut.

Tony cheered with the rest, until his eyes widened in realization, shooting up like a bullet almost immediately with a yelp of, “Shiiiitgottapee!” as he bolted off to the portable restrooms once again.

Bruce laughed as his friend made a run for it. Out in front, Pepper was bounced to the ground and the all of them stood soaking in the praise as they panted for breath. The members of Glendale that had formerly been talking shit were noticeably quiet as the grave now. A few students from Westmore stood to run out and congratulate the cheerleaders, among them Happy, Bruce noticed, who encompassed Pepper in his arms before exchanging a deep kiss. It made him cock an uncomfortable eyebrow for reasons he couldn’t quite explain-- maybe he was just projecting for his currently absent friend.

\--

It wasn’t easy, but Tony had managed to balance himself over the disgusting excuse for a toilet by propping himself up by one hand and using the other to unzip, unfasten, adjust his waistband and aim into the bowl.

“No idea why I’m bothering to fucking aim...” Tony grumbled out loud, “Doesn’t look like anybody else did. Hell! I don’t even know why I’m tolerating a port-o-potty in the first place. I’m Tony Stark. Fuck this shit.” It didn’t make him feel any better, or God forbid _cleaner_ (the sani-wipes in the dispenser by the door could only do so much for a person’s occasional toilet germ paranoia), but at least he got that anger out of his system. He re-dressed himself, threw the door open with a growl, and came face-to-face with someone familiar.

“Oh! Excuse me,” the dark-haired girl apologized nervously, no doubt startled by Tony’s outburst and the portable restroom’s door flying open just inches away from hitting her. Tony was pretty sure he hadn’t met her before, but he couldn’t help but think he knew that face from somewhere. She looked roughly about his and Bruce’s age...

“Oh, don’t sweat it. Have we met before?” He held out his hand, “Tony Stark; I go to Westmore High.” He glanced down at his outstretched hand, then back at where he’d just stepped out of, “It’s clean. Don’t worry.”

The girl brushed some stray hair out of her face, giving a small laugh. “I’m fairly certain we haven’t...” she said as she slipped her small fair-skinned hand into his.

Tony shook it gently, “And you are?”

It was almost as if that detail had escaped her. “Elizabeth Ross,” she said, then shrugged her shoulder, “I go by Betty.” She smiled, charmed by the boy’s outgoing and cavalier demeanor.

Tony raised an eyebrow, “Betty. You go to my school or...?”

“Oh no,” she shook her head at the mix-up, “I go to Glendale. Am... am I in the right place?” Betty glanced around before admitting. “I showed up late.”

That’s when it clicked.

_‘This is the girl from Bruce’s polaroid. His old childhood friend! Tony, you are a total BOSS!’_

He tried to suppress a grin, not letting go of Betty’s hand, “I’ll show you to your seat, but first there’s someone I think you should see.”

“Well I guess that would be alright...” she said appreciatively, wondering who it was Tony wanted to introduce her to.

He whipped out his phone with the other hand and sent Bruce a quick text, before escorting Betty back in the direction of his and Bruce’s spot.

\--

Bruce felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out. _‘Close your eyes and count to twenty.’_ He lifted a skeptical eyebrow immediately, and instead of doing as Tony texted, he started to sweep his eyes around the rally for signs of his friend undoubtedly interested in pranking him in some fashion. His phone vibrated again with a follow-up message. _‘You’re not doing it. Trust me. Close your eyes.’_

He texted back. _‘Tony, what are you up to? I thought you said you were going to the bathroom.’_

_‘On my way back now. The Hell am I gonna sneak up on you with? You have all the WMDs right there. Close. Your. Eyes.’_

_‘Please.’_

Bruce sighed. He could always get Tony back if this was somehow a ruse. He stubbornly went silent and shut them.

“Shh... quiet! Just stand here.” He could hear Tony’s voice. But who was he talking to? Bruce’s forehead wrinkled in the middle.

“Okay. You can both open your eyes now.”

“Tony--” Bruce immediately opened his mouth to begin chastising as he opened his eyes, and the rest of whatever his brain had concocted to say was obliterated by the sight of the person standing in front of him.

“Br-Bruce!” Betty stammered in sheer disbelief, incapable of believing she was seeing who she was seeing. “Oh my gosh. I thought you... What are you doing here?? I mean... I-It’s so good to see you again!” she went through many exclamations before settling whole-heartedly on the last one, her hands quivering as she put them to her breast.

Bruce struggled to get a grip on the situation, blinking several times and trying to get something out, but his voicebox just didn’t want to work. “It’s good to see you too...” he finally managed, though the words sounded forced like he’d only mirrored her sentiment as a matter of course.

“I thought you moved away from here...” Betty squeezed the straps on her handmade book bag, tipping her head at him. She was still running through a list of questions in her mind, full of uncertainty and wonder. “Are you visiting or something?”

Jittering, Bruce pushed his glasses up on his nose before standing. “No,” he answered. “I actually live... the same place.”

The coldness of the answer injured her. “Oh.” She got quiet, trying her best to be stoic. Her father always said that ‘boys weren’t worth crying over’. Despite his advice, she’d cried over Bruce several times in the past, but she wasn’t about to start again now because of one chance meeting. “I guess I wouldn’t have known after I stopped coming by.” The statement hung.

Tony watched awkwardly from the sidelines, wondering if maybe he’d made a mistake reuniting them like this. Maybe he was opening up old wounds.

“Betty...” Just saying her name to her felt like swallowing gravel. He had to apologize. He’d been meaning to for years, but he’d never been able to bring himself to do so. But now Betty was right here in front of him, waiting. He couldn’t back out now, he couldn’t run away. He didn’t have an out now; he had to do it. The words tumbled out. “I’m so sorry.” His eyes shut as his head bowed, close to tears.

Those words changed everything. Betty hurriedly closed the distance between them, grabbing his hands to steady them, before wrapping her arms around him. His fingers found a place in the curve of her spine, sliding up slowly to her hair to pet and stroke. Bruce buried his face in her clavicle, glasses pushed up and eyes scrunched shut. “Are we still friends, Bruce?” she asked. She’d been meaning to ask that for years, ever since she kissed him and found out he didn’t like her...

“He still has those stars on his ceiling,” Tony blurted out reflexively from the sidelines, to both his and Bruce’s embarrassment. As he watched them interact, he wondered what exactly the nature of their relationship had been. How close of friends were they even? He felt a pang of loneliness watching, which melted into jealousy, which melted into guilt. “Sorry, that kinda... slipped out...” he corrected himself.

Betty smiled at the revelation, her eyes lighting up at the thought of the good times they’d shared growing up and the knowledge that Bruce hadn’t forgotten those good times either. That he’d never really forgotten _her_ even though awkwardness had driven them apart.

Bruce swallowed roughly; he didn’t know how to answer her question. The way he’d alienated her over the past six years... he’d be lying if he said yes, but saying no... that wasn’t right either. He struggled to find some way to express the tangled mess of logic and emotion inside him. “I-I... I p-pushed you away...” he stroked her hand. “I didn’t want to, b-but I had to... I _thought_ I had to...” he corrected.

“If you want to be friends... then we still are...” She stepped back, wiping underneath her eyes out of habit to check for dampness. “This is a good thing, right? We should be happy.”

Bruce exhaled shakily. Betty was all grown up now; she’d matured into a beautiful young woman. And what was he? he realized. What did she see? He wasn’t who she remembered; he could never go back to being the little boy she’d made friends with in Kindergarten.

Bruce nodded, despite the swell of conflictions deep inside him. “Y-you’re right. We should be.” His fingers tightened on her hands. “I just never thought I’d see you again.”

“Neither did I. If it weren’t for...” She paused, turning to address Tony, “Thank you, so much. How did you know?”

“I... well, I uh... It wasn’t anything like, uh...” Tony stammered, and blushed and looked back at the ground. There was an ease of communication between the two of them now, that threw Tony into a bit of an awkward spot. This new person, all these new variables. It reminded him exactly how bad he could be with new people. He’d been surrounded with familiar people for so long, he had forgotten what it felt like to be the third wheel.

Bruce stared at Tony as well. While he knew the answer to Betty’s question for him, he didn’t surrender it. He was too lost in his own head trying to figure out what had possessed his friend to do this for him, how Tony had even recognized Betty out of so many people here at the rally from one old photograph and a story about stars. Thankful wasn’t quite the right word for how he felt about this. He was far too conflicted for so simple an emotion.

“Bruce and I... uhh... I was over at his house and he told me about you and showed me a picture and... And it was nice to meet you, I uh... You should probably exchange numbers now, cuz I don’t think I’d be lucky enough to find you in a crowd twice, Betsy-- Betty! I should uhh...” He kept looking over his shoulder as he spoke.

_‘Get away? Get some fresh air? Go vomit? Get angry at myself for being stupid enough to think I’d be comfortable here? Leave the old flames to rekindle in privacy? Ugh why am I even upset about this?! Even if they like each other, Bruce promised he’s not leaving me behind. So why do I feel like such shit right now?’_

“Should what?” Bruce broke the awkward silence-- though he could practically _hear_ the whirring going on in his friend’s head.

“I... I dunno,” Tony lied, “I lost my train of thought there.” He licked his lips. He needed to drink something to wash the taste of bile out of his mouth. “Pass me a soda would you?” Tony licked his lips again, “I need a drink, I got cottonmouth real bad.”

Bruce might have face-palmed if not for present company. Instead he leaned down and grabbed one of the requested beverages, popping the cap before handing it over to his parched compatriot.

“Thanks,” Tony snatched it up and tried to keep from chugging it down, much as he wanted to.

Betty was watching them. “So you two are friends?”

“Yeah, he’s my best friend actually,” Tony said, calming himself.

“We ah... hit it off pretty recently,” Bruce said, rubbing the back of his neck, not wanting to give Betty the impression he’d replaced her too quickly for someone else.

“Stubborn as Hell, this guy,” Tony cut in, surprisingly feeling worlds more comfortable when Bruce was sharing the answering process with him, “Had to break him in. But he really missed you. He was just too scared and dumb to do anything about it,” he punctuated with an eyeroll.

“Bruce, is that true...?” she looked at him with wide eyes like she was surprised to hear the information.

He felt the pit of his insecurity dig a little deeper. Did Tony _really_ have to bring that up?? “I-it’s not like I didn’t think about it...” he stammered, wringing his hands together. He’d thought about it almost daily at first and it had ripped him up inside, but gradually he’d learned to cope and missed her less and less until she was little more than a fond memory akin to nothing more than faded paint on an old ceiling. His head hung somberly.

Betty came forward to stroke his back. “You could have said something, found me, any time...”

Knowing that made it hurt worse. He started to open his mouth again.

“That concludes the intermission!” Steve proclaimed. “If everyone could please gather around and find their way to their seats we can now commence the lighting of the annual bonfire!”

“Oh,” Betty realized. “Maybe you should show me back to my school, Tony.”

“Uhh, yeah, sure,” Tony began, feeling like he’d made Bruce look worse than he actually was, “Look, about what I said; I didn’t mean--”

“Just a moment.” The dark-haired girl removed a pen from the book bag she was carrying on her shoulder. She stepped up to Bruce, taking a hold of his hand and making him hold it open, palm up. Carefully she wrote her phone number onto it with ink before shutting his fingers back closed over it. Betty stared up at him. “Will we see each other again?” she asked, leaving reason for doubt.

He stared back down at her, giving reason for doubt. “I hope so,” he settled.

“Alright,” Tony began to escort her, out of earshot. “And don’t worry about him. He overthinks things. Well... everything. Especially when it’s something he cares about.”

“He always was very cerebral,” she smiled in understanding. “And he never liked to talk about himself.”

Tony just nodded along. Bruce didn’t like to share much, which made it special when he did decide to share things. He wondered in all that time how much Bruce had shared with Betty.

“Hm.” There was a calm silence for a little while, before Tony spoke again, itching for an answer, “So were you two...close?”

“You mean intimately?” she looked for clarification.

“What? No! Of course you weren’t. I mean if you were then that’s cool, I’m not judging you. I just meant like, were you guys... You seemed close, or at least like you were before stuff happened. I’m sorry. It’s a dumb question. I probably sound so insensitive.”

Betty seemed amused, rather than offended by Tony’s blatant awkwardness. “We were best friends,” she spoke softly but importantly, looking the boy right in the eyes. “But I think he’s found someone better.”

He felt his chest pound at what her response was implying of him, but it also hurt because of what she was implying of herself.

“I don’t think he’s grading us, really,” Tony stammered, looking down.

“It’s alright,” Betty assured. “We’ve been apart a long time.” Her eyes threatened to spill over, eyelashes glossy, but still she was smiling. “I’m leaving it to him to decide. I’m glad I got to see him again. Thank you, again.”

“No problem at all. I, uhh, apologise. I forgot how awkward I can get with new people. Nothing personal, it’s just been a while.” Tony scratched the back of his head nervously, ”It really was nice meeting you. I hope it won’t be the last.”

“Me either,” she shared the sentiment.

Tony smiled warmly at her for a short while, letting silence take over. “That should be them over there. I’ll warn you to stay far away from the troublemakers. Don’t want you getting caught in the mess if something happens.”

“I know the ones; I will.”

“Good. That’s a nice blouse, wouldn’t want any malt vinegar to stain it.”

The girl looked tempted to question that statement, but did not, turning to go. Tony stood by and watched her leave, sighing to himself. He’d go back in a few minutes. He needed to shut his overactive mind up now.

Bruce watched their backs from afar as they departed-- one friend who’d known him forever and barely knew him any more, and one friend who’d known him only a few months and knew more about him than anyone. It was an interesting dichotomy. The teen looked down into his palm, seeing the numbers individually but not processing them as a string. He’d been given a choice. To add her number to his address book and reconnect with her later, or let the ink fade into his skin and vanish just like tonight’s opportunity.

He laid down on the blanket and slid his cell back out of his pants pocket to text Tony. _‘I wish you’d filled these coolers with beer after all. How’s that for irony?’_

_‘Liquor Store? :3’_

_‘Give it a rest, Tony.’_

_‘I was kidding. Enjoy sobriety, though. Dick :P’_


	12. Chapter 12

Tony sighed, taking a look around the area. He didn’t want to go back yet. His mind was fogged with thoughts and feelings and questions without answers. Most of which originated from or pointed back to his best friend, who was sitting back a ways protecting the coolers and saving their spot. From the corner of his eye, he could see Thor and the rest of the team, and surprisingly he wasn’t talking non-stop. He wasn’t even smiling. The mood seemed to be universally low right now throughout the grounds. Tony sighed dejectedly. Maybe he should head back to Bruce before he started to worry. Tony may have been nervous around him, and for valid reasons, but a little nervousness was still worlds better than being alone, especially when surrounded by people on all sides. He pulled out his phone to text Bruce that he was on his way, but was interrupted halfway through.

“Miiister Staaark,” a nasal voice droned from behind him, causing Tony to turn around. It took him a moment to place the face of the boy in the horn-rimmed glasses as Justin Hammer-- someone with which he’d clashed before in county-wide science fairs. His tone turned mocking and babied, “Or should I say little bitty baby boy Stark, still hanging off his daddy’s money to get him evewyting he wants?” He grinned.

Tony rolled his eyes. This was the last thing he needed right now, “Yep, that’s me. So how much of my daddy’s money will it take for you to fuck off, because what I really want is to not be having this conversation right now.”

“I don’t know, how much are you offering?” Justin asked, then quickly changed his mind as if that was somehow tricking his opponent, “No, I’ve got plenty of my own cash sitting in a niiice bank account,” he bragged, running a hand over his slicked hair. “It has my name on it.”

“Great, then go buy a clue. Deuces,” Tony retorted, turning on his heel and strutting off towards where he and Bruce were sitting. If he was going to be followed, he had to think of some detours to throw this dickhead off his trail.

“Your old girlfriend is in jeopardy, you know!” Justin called out.

Tony stopped, turned around, and shot a glare at his antagonist.

“Oh, that got your attention, now didn’t it? Now you’re listening to me. _Why_ are you here, Stark?”

“What’s it to you? Can’t a guy go to a pep rally and sit by a giant fire?”

“A guy intending to sit innocently by a giant fire doesn’t bring four coolers...” he paused to wait for a surprised reaction from Tony (which never came), then went on, “Yeah, I’m onto you. I have eyes in the walls.” He motioned at his eyes with fore and middle finger and swept the hand out.

“Okay first off, fuck you. Second, I brought enough food for a few of my friends. You obviously haven’t seen Thor eat. And thirdly, we’re outside, you dumbshit. The only _wall_ here is the apparent divider between your Cerebrum and Brain Stem.”

“Well, if that’s the case, then I guess I don’t have to worry about you... _interfering_...” he drew the word out.

“You know, that evil villain shtick is never going to get you laid,” Tony chided, closing the distance between the two with three long strides until he stood toe-to-toe with Hammer, staring him down, “Also,” he sent a fist soaring into the smug bastard’s gut, knocking the wind out of him, “You cause any problems here, and you’ll wish you’d just let me ignore you and walk away.”

He stepped back, cracking his knuckles and leering down at Hammer, huddled and gasping for air on the ground in the fetal position. He felt a twinge of guilt for resorting to violence, if only for a second. He’d promised Bruce he wouldn’t be throwing the first punch, even if he hadn’t been speaking literally. But _nobody_ threatened Pepper. “Oh my God... oh my God, he hit me!” Justin struggled to sit up while holding an arm across his stomach, “D-did anyone see that? He hit me!” His cries for attention went unheard.

“Oh my bad, I was supposed to pay someone else to do that with Daddy’s money, wasn’t I? Eh, I’ll send him the bill,” he spat, turning on his heel and stomping off. As confused and emotional as he was right now, he knew he’d feel better in the long run if he went back to Bruce.

\--

The bonfire had been lit, growing in intensity until large flames licked the cold air, embers floating high above it and tossed around by wispy smoke, but Bruce’s attention was elsewhere. He was still lying on his back on the blanket, staring up at the real starscape high above. He scratched absently at his chest before reaching over to his side, as if almost expecting to find Betty’s hand there, but all he felt was cool padded fabric and no comfort. He shut his eyes and sighed again before resigning himself to sitting up and evaluating the status of the bonfire and how much longer the event would last-- not that going home would be any relief to his inner torment. Here or there, it was all the same, he knew he wouldn’t be able to escape it.

His eyes focused on Tony then, who was on his way back. Bruce’s brow furrowed-- he’d almost slipped his mind in the time it had taken him to come back. He wondered what had taken him so long, and he might have asked, if he hadn’t been so deeply withdrawn. “Hey,” he merely conveyed.

“Hey,” Tony replied with about as much gusto, rubbing his knuckles as he sat down.

The motion didn’t escape Bruce’s notice. “What did you do now?” he asked, the question coming off very accusingly.

“I didn’t--” Tony caught himself, it would’ve been pointless to lie to Bruce. The guy could see right through him. “Long story. Let’s just say people would have cared more if I’d hit a tree.”

A long story that Tony was unlikely interested in telling, or that Bruce was interested in hearing. He gave a sigh and flopped back onto the blanket once more, covering his face with a palm, just hoping whatever Tony did wouldn’t result in anything.

Tony licked his lips nervously. In all honesty, he wanted to just pack up and convince Pepper and Bruce to come back to his place. He could take Bruce home around eleven so his dad wouldn’t have any reason to believe he’d skipped JC. He had a bad feeling about the rest of the night, and he just wanted them to be out of the crossfire. He was starting to feel bad about inviting Bruce. If Hammer had some sort of vendetta against him, Tony’d made a big mistake by saying he was here with friends. Not to mention the whole Betty fiasco more than likely hadn’t left Bruce feeling all warm and fuzzy on the inside.

“I’m sorry...” Tony sighed out, falling backwards onto the blanket next to his friend, resigning himself to stare up at the stars.

Bruce let his hand slide away from his face. “For what?” he mumbled.

Tony exhaled roughly, the stress of the past twenty or so minutes starting to show, “For not asking you first. For not warning you that I was--” 

“Tony, come on. You don’t need to apologize,” he said; he kind of just wanted to dismiss the whole encounter. “You thought we’d be happy to see one another again and... that was a reasonable assumption.” He frowned at his own inability to just _thank_ Tony and move on.

“Well I _want_ to apologize. Even if I wasn’t _trying_ to fuck things up, I’m still responsible for it.”

Bruce shook his head firmly, unwilling to hear it. “I could have easily run into her later, on my own, without you doing a thing. This still would have happened.”

Tony snorted, unable to argue back, “It’s not just that... I’m... I’ve got a lot on my mind now.” He paused to mull over what he was thinking. 

After a few moments of tense silence, Tony’s voice cut through the air as usual, “Do you wanna leave with me? We can grab Pepper and just leave early. You don’t have to go home.” He tried not to sound like he was pleading.

“I...” Bruce’s mouth opened to respond but was stopped short by the inclusion of Pepper in that game plan. If anything, he just wanted some alone time with his best friend. Couldn’t Happy take her home? He tried to shake it off. “Yeah, that sounds okay.”

Tony let out a sigh of relief, getting to his feet and stretching. He proceeded to pack up what little refreshments they’d actually unloaded, stuffing them back into the cooler. He held out a hand to help Bruce up once he’d finished packing, a question caught in his throat until he forced it out.

“It wasn’t all bad, right?” Tony asked, unsure of how Bruce felt about the night so far.

Bruce allowed Tony to help pull him upright. He glanced down into his palm briefly, considering the phone number written there. “No, just... thought-provoking.” He moved to help, grabbing one side of the large blanket and extending the other to his friend.

“Yeah, I was gonna say...” Tony mumbled needlessly, assisting Bruce in folding the blanket. He was sure Bruce had done laundry with his mother plenty of times, but even Tony knew it was easier to fold a large blanket with two people. His mom had actually taught him with a beach towel before she’d passed. He’d been too small to help her with the bedsheets and he was sad that he couldn’t help her, so she’d decided to find something he could do besides matching socks. She’d actually had to kneel to match his height. It was a sweet memory, and one that Tony’d almost forgotten until then.

A tug on the sheet brought him out of his musings, and he’d noticed that he’d been going through the motions of folding the whole time, and Bruce was staring at him expectantly. There was only one fold left for the both of them to make. Tony shook his head, “Sorry; I zoned out.”

They came towards each other simultaneously, each holding the folded blanket by two corners, until meeting midway. Tony stopped, and found himself unable to break eye contact with his friend. This was bad. Very bad. He needed to make up an excuse. Even Bruce was starting to look nervous... or at least, Tony thought that was nervousness. He wasn’t looking away either. He needed to break eye contact, say something, do something, anything.

Their proximity even made Bruce hesitate. Last they’d been this close, Tony had been leaning in to give him a drunken kiss. Those brown eyes weren’t clouded now like they were then, however. They were lucid, and the irises were trembling slightly underneath his highly arched brows. He was probably just eager to get going, and was stuck here until Bruce was done over-analysing things.

He exhaled sharply through his nose and took the blanket from Tony, “...thanks,” Bruce said as he made the final necessary folds to make it into a square.

“...yeah,” Tony managed to force out, turning to pick up one of the coolers. “I’ll make the trip back for the other two. You get Pepper. Tell her I’ll give her a ride home. I don’t want her staying here if...” he paused, choosing to omit Hammer so Bruce wouldn’t be compelled to ask, “Well, I just don’t want her staying. She should be changing in the bus with the rest of the squad, if you can wait up.”

“Okay,” Bruce agreed, picking up his own cooler to make the first trip out to the parking lot. They were halfway to the car when there rose a great communal shriek from the direction of the bus. They turned round to see a gaggle of Glendale students armed with hoses, hooked up to portable pressure washers, which were jetting hard streams of water at the hapless cheerleaders. A few had their arms lifted up in defense, a couple tried to run away and in so doing, slipped in the forming puddles and fell to the pavement.

“Sorry, girls, you looked like you needed a _cool down_ after all that bouncing around!” Justin Hammer cupped his hands over his mouth to yell over the sound of the running water. “But I guess all that was _fruitless_!” He looked expectantly at one of his goons, giving him a kick in the shin. “Dumbasses, that was your cue.”

The buffoonish student set one of the many cantaloupes he was holding in the trebuchet, and another pulled the string to launch it. The melon went sailing through the air and broke open against the side of the bus, sending slimy orange goo flying in all directions.

“That...” Tony stared, trembling in anger and disbelief, “That son of a bitch!”

Bruce pushed his glasses up, viewing the scene with an objective air; this was probably _exactly_ the kind of pranking his friend had warned him to expect.

He whipped around to face Bruce, “Fuck the coolers. I can buy more. Go get Pepper and keep her safe. I’m gonna make this guy regret the day he was fucking born,” he punctuated with a crack of his knuckles. He bolted into the fray, or was about to until Bruce caught him under the arms, holding him back.

“Bruce, let me the fuck _go_!” Tony growled, feet spinning in the air.

“Counter-measures, remember??” Bruce hissed back. This was supposed to remain reasonably civil, wasn’t it? If Tony just ran in without some plan of attack, who knew how out of hand things would get. Some of the students at the bonfire must have also heard the wild screams, because kids were beginning to flood into the parking lot.

“Fuck the fucking counter-measures!!” Tony spat, swinging legs knocking one of the coolers over and spilling the contents, a handful of them bursting on the ground. From a nearby tree, someone let out a low whistle.

Clint Barton dropped from his perch where he’d been watching the bonfire from afar. He stuck his thumb and forefinger into his mouth and blew hard enough to get the attention of every student in the parking lot. He signalled at the ice boxes and quickly the students of Westmore mobbed, throwing the lid off the second box and snatching the balloons up from the ground.

When he nearly got an elbow to the face was when Bruce decided to let go of his friend. As soon as Tony was free, he sprinted off. “Tony!” Bruce implored, though he knew there was no getting through to his friend when he was like this. He threw up his hands.

Tony had barely made it halfway to Pepper, when one of Hammer’s goons had intercepted him. He cocked his fist back, only for the lackey to take a chocolate milk balloon to the face before he could sink it. Under normal circumstances, he would have been proud to see his hard work put to its proper use, but the only thing on his mind aside from rearranging that useless fuck’s smug face was to get Pepper somewhere safe and see if she was okay.

Little did he know, the girl was as hell-bent and livid as he was, and a sopping wet Pepper Potts was directing her fellow cheerleaders over to the storage compartment on the outside of the bus. Now that Glendale had turned the hoses away from them and onto the new threat, they were able to dig into their bags and grab their mace before fanning out to unleash. The resulting screams were sweet revenge for the girls.

A few of the blinded ones still managed to do some damage to the oncoming barrage; Tony took a blast of pressurized water, knocking him over. He coughed roughly as he struggled to regain his footing, disoriented from the force of the impact.

Bruce was still watching from the sidelines, mildly shell shocked. This was all too much for him. No wonder he never came to school events.

“MASTER STARK!” Thor growled out in a mix of distress and rage, barreling past Bruce from somewhere back in the crowd behind him, and onwards to battle, “I SHALL AVENGE THY HONOR, BROTHER IN STUDIES! COMETH AT ME AND STARE IN THE FACE THE END OF YOUR DAYS, GLENDALE FILTH!”

Rogers was running after him. “This is supposed to be a _unity_ bonfire! United we stand, divided we fall!”

“So show some fucking solidarity and help us kick some ass, Rogers,” Natasha delivered, using the heel of her boot to kick open the third and fourth cooler she’d found where Bruce and Tony had been formerly seated. Steve stood gaping at the crimson redhead as if she were insane, at least until a particularly juicy melon exploded just feet away from where they stood, bursting open across the wing tip shoes Steve’s granddaddy had polished and let him borrow for just for this occasion.

The Westmore Student President set his jaw, an old pearl of wisdom racing to the forefront of his mind.

_‘Sometimes peace needs to be_ won, _boy. And sometimes it just ain’t a good idea to piss a hard-working, good-intentioned American off.’_

That’s what his granddaddy had always said when Steve had asked him about the wars. Though he may have been a pacifist at heart, Steve had always cherished the wisdom of his forefathers. With clenched teeth, he dug a hand in to grab a Hawaiian Punch-filled balloon and heaved it in the direction of the kid who had launched the melon, the force behind the throw actually knocking his target backwards a little.

“That’s the spirit, Prez,” Clint winked, following suit. Happy joined in with a vengeance and so did Coulson, looking in awe upon his blonde admiree who was lobbing balloons with the rest of them.

Tony put a hand to his head as he rolled over, trying to regain his senses. He knew he’d hit it on the pavement, but he pulled back his hand and hadn’t seen any blood. Still, as dizzy as he was and with the pandemonium all around him, Tony had a lot of trouble just getting to his knees, and as soon as he was there, a foot came down on his spine, knocking him face forward.

“Oh, hi there. How’s it feel down there? Not so great now that it’s you, huh?” Justin sneered at him, taking his window of opportunity to get the best of his rival and gloat.

“Not used to being on top, Justin?” Tony coughed out a laugh, preferring not to give the bastard the satisfaction of seeing the raging fire he’d lit.

The taunt had driven straight home. The other student let out an angry yell and kicked Tony in the side, eliciting a sharp cry of agony from the normally aloof and happy-go-lucky teen as the force rolled him onto his back. Snarling, Hammer raised his heel with the intent to send it stomping back down onto Tony’s chest. Tony didn’t have the strength nor the coordination to roll or dodge out of the way. And with his chest as the obvious target, for the first time, he was scared for himself.

Bruce had been able to watch the bedlam non-pejoratively until the moment he heard his friend cry out. In a single instant his calm was shattered, replaced by alarm and fury. He spotted Tony and Hammer through the warring crowd and he didn’t need to think, his feet just reacted, sprinting towards the two with a bellow that left his lungs more forcefully with each pump of his legs. Justin hesitated foot in the air upon hearing his oncoming attacker, but it was too late for him to do anything more than gawk in horror at the realization of the impact that was coming. Bruce slammed into him, sending him sprawling several feet and then barrel-rolling several more; his horn-rimmed glasses flung off his face in the centrifuge and snapped in two against the asphalt.

Seeing their leader downed caused a couple of the bigger Glendale students to drop what they were previously doing and converge on the newcomer. Bruce’s blindsighted rage would not have been drawn away from Hammer if it hadn’t been for a meaty arm sliding over his shoulder. It tightened with the aim of crushing his windpipe, but the jiu jitsu was already kicking in. Bruce sunk his teeth into the croney’s forearm and performed a shoulder throw, tossing his attacker to the pavement. With a sharp twist, he simultaneously dislocated his arm and broke his wrist, eliciting a wail of pain. The second tried to swing a wild haymaker at his face, but Bruce ducked and countered with an uppercut to his opponent’s gut. The student doubled-over and joined the others on the ground, emptying his stomach of whatever had been his last meal.

Two more came, but they were easily subdued, one with a leg-sweep trip and follow-up forearm smash to the chin that chipped teeth, the other with an arm-lock and elbow-inversion. Bruce stood hunkered low and heaving, eyes like fire and fists curled tight, but no one else dared to make a move. In fact, most of the Glendales were dropping their hoses and melons and surrendering; they knew they were out-matched, out-numbered, and had lost their mastermind, who was currently groping the multiple-fluid-soaked ground like a worthless mole for his broken spectacles.

Tony could only stare in disbelief from his spot on the ground, temples throbbing, his ribs more than likely bruised. As much as he hated to admit to being potentially bested by Justin Hammer, Bruce had probably saved him a trip to the ER, considering at that close range even Hammer could have done a number on his heart. Blinking his gaze away from Bruce, he suddenly remembered the reason he’d rushed into the fray in the first place.

“Pepper? _Pepper!_ ” Tony groaned out, still not strong enough to stand.

Pepper dashed to her ex’s side, kneeling down beside him and pulling him into her arms to prop him upright. “Tony, are you okay??” she exclaimed, pressing her palm to his cheek worriedly.

Tony was about to answer, when a familiar golden-haired teen came bounding up, dropping one of the Glendale students who he’d had in a sleeper hold upon arrival, almost as if he’d forgotten to do so until then.

“Master Stark!” he cried out in dismay, upon reaching his fallen brother in arms, holding a hand out to keep the maiden at a safe distance, “Standeth back, Lady Potts! I shall transport the young master to safety!” He stooped to pick Tony up, but the teen protested.

“W-wait. Bruce, what about Bruce.”

Thor nodded. “As you wish. Afford a moment so that I might locate Master Banner...” he said scanning the area around him.

Bruce hadn’t moved from the place he had stopped, feet still firmly rooted to the ground beneath him. Though the threat was over, he was still having flashbacks... bits and pieces of distant recollections, playing at the forefront of his mind in fragmented loops... _anger_ he’d drawn from during the fight. Very gradually he was beginning to come to as the adrenaline drained out of his system. When Thor’s hand thunked dully onto his arm, he finally shook his head clear and straightened up.

“Master Banner, friend Stark requests you,” the long-haired Norse informed him. “And, might I say it? but you are a warrior most-worthy on the battlefield. It is like a fearsome beast rages inside you! You are a true Bilge Snipe and have my admiration.” He placed a fist over his heart in respectful salute.

Bruce cleared his throat and just gave a nod, walking over to Tony.

Pepper was still cradling him, which might have been more comforting if she wasn’t still wet. “I told you not to endanger yourself for me...” she said, as if with the intention of chastising her ex, but her tone only conveyed gratitude and apology that it had come to this.

“And I didn’t listen,” Tony coughed out, giving a pained smirk, “Surprise, surprise. I thought you knew me.”

She huffed and shook her head, wet ponytail bobbing. Bruce hunkered down beside them. “Uh... you okay?” he seemed to be asking the both of them. Pepper nodded.

“Dude,” Tony groaned out, “Big guy, you were awesome out there. How’d I look?”

Awesome wasn’t quite the word he would have used... more like out-of-control. He was pretty sure he’d inflicted more damage than he’d needed to. “Like a million dollars,” Bruce returned.

“A _million?_ ” Tony’s face mock-soured. He was a multi- _billionaire_ , after all, “Eh, I guess that’s still a pretty good one, coming from you.”

“Valiant and brave, the both of thee! Within thine chests truly beat the hearts of true warriors!” Thor boasted from a few feet away, punctuating this with a proud pound to his chest, before turning to address the crowd, “Brethren! Raise your voices high and give a huzzah for Master Stark and Master Banner! On the third count! Once! Twice! Thrice! HUZZAH!”

“Yeah, way to go, kicking ass in our honor. Don’t think Glendale’s gonna let you transfer back anytime soon, though,” Tony let out a chuckle, wincing when it gave him a headache.

“We should get you home,” Pepper suggested.

“Yeah,” Bruce agreed. He was concerned on Tony’s behalf, but he also just wanted to get away from the crowd that was now beginning to chant both his and Tony’s names.

“Umm, yeah, how is this working? It might be the potential brain damage talking, but I can’t drive right now, Pep came in on the bus, and your scooter’s back at--”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Just give me your car keys.”

“But--” Tony began to protest, but an oncoming migraine protested right back, “Ugh, can you drive stick?”

“Yes, now cough them up,” Bruce held out his hand. You’d think his friend was worried he’d scratch the paint job.

“Fine,” Tony grumbled, and after searching his pockets for a little too long he managed to locate them, tossing them gently towards Bruce, his aim probably way off with the way his vision was swimming.

“Thanks, by the way.” He turned to look back at Pepper, “You coming, Pep?”

The girl looked to Bruce, who nodded, wordlessly communicating that she trusted him to take good care of Tony. She gave her ex another pat on the cheek as if to say she appreciated the offer. “Happy said he’d take me home. Plus, I think someone more competent than _Thor_ needs to stick around for damage-control.” She rolled her green eyes. The blonde was currently still leading the cheers, and quite well, she noticed with a morbid fascination. Give that boy some pom poms and a megaphone and Pepper might need to find another extracurricular. That poor boy had no idea how ambiguous he was. She shook her head, as strangely adorable as it was, it wasn’t doing much more than boost morale, which was pretty high already. Natasha and Clint were at least escorting the rival school off the grounds.

“Got’cha. Well, it’s been fun, but I’m gonna fuck off now,” Tony said with an understanding look, sincere smile dissolving into a mildly lecherous one, “Hot routine, by the way.”

In different circumstances Pepper would have shot him a glare, but instead she just laughed. “Oh well, you know, you helped teach me some of those moves,” she joked sarcastically. She stood and turned to go.

Tony swatted Bruce on the arm lightly after Pepper had taken her leave, “I told you.”

Bruce just shook his head disbelievingly.

Thor broke his attention finally from leading a rousing cheer in appreciation for the heroic efforts of Master Stark and Master Banner, with one last booming _‘HUZZAH!’_. Satisfied that both he and his fellow companions in study (as well as a stray few of those on the Glendale side whom had more than likely borne a hearty dislike to the fiends and their leader long before this incident) had paid proper tribute, he turned to address Lady Potts and his two aforementioned companions. “Master Stark, wouldst thou be ready for thine escort?”

“You know what, Shakespeare in the Parking Lot? I have no idea what you just said.” Tony furrowed his eyebrows, “But sure, be my guest.”

Master Banner stood back as Thor hefted Master Stark up over his shoulder and began to walk, allowing Master Banner to lead him to Master Stark’s decorative chariot.

“Whoa! Whoa! Thor, hold up!” Tony shouted in dismay.

Confused, Thor paused in his strides, “Does this displease you, Master Stark?”

“I’m not a potato sack,” Tony groaned, “And, stop calling me ‘Master Stark’. I’m not your Master, dude. You can just call me Tony.”

“Would that please Mast-- Tony?” Thor spoke with much hesitation. To speak to another in like terms and titles was a gesture of friendship above all in his eyes, “You wish to extend an offer of... friendship?” His eyes watered with great elation. Such an offer from Master Stark, it warmed his heart, but the informality filled him with unease, “I could not. Master Stark must be referred to as Sir Anthony at the very least.”

“Drop the sir and the third person speech, and fine, we’re friends.” Tony rolled his eyes, slightly irritated, slightly amused, “Not even my Gram calls me Anthony. Now please, my ribs hurt.”

Bruce’s face gave a concerned twitch. “Let me,” he stepped in for Thor, who deposited Tony into his arms. “We’ll catch you Monday, Theodore.” Tony nodded an affirmative, dizzily.

Thor’s face scrunched up in disgust, “T’is simply Thor, but I shall forgive thy mistake, Master Bann--”

Bruce tried to mask his frustration. “Bruce. It’s just Bruce.”

Thor felt his eyes well up, threatening to spill over with mortal tears, “Y-yes, as you both wish. May you have safe passage, friends.” The large boy turned swiftly and re-entangled himself within the throng of the crowd, disappearing from sight. It was all he could manage not to bounce with joy.

‘Oh what glorious eve is this that I hath acquired not one, but two true friends with less effort than would take to murder two avian with but one stone!’

Though if he were to be truly honest, the expression in and of itself seemed nigh impossible to Thor, lest the birds themselves be flying in a straight line. But that was neither here nor elsewhere, and he was far too overjoyed to delve forth into the realm of the logical at the moment. He was a great deal more preoccupied with preventing the bursting of his happy little heart.

“Brain-damage, you were saying?” Bruce muttered to Tony as he carried him toward the car.

“Hm? Me or him?” Tony groaned.

Bruce shook his head. What a night.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploaded by ChevySK and subject to future edits. Apologies for the late posting. Chevy fell asleep re-formatting the text.
> 
> Also a link to 'That Spells DNA', the song from this chapter: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k4djjxo68Hw
> 
> P.S: Happy (Not)Apocalypse; Here's some more dream smut :D

He managed to reach out for the door handle of Tony’s mustang and get it open without dropping his friend.  Bruce then leaned over carefully, sitting Tony upright in the passenger’s seat, hoping the positioning wouldn’t put too much pressure on the ribs he was complaining about.

“Hey, Banner!” Bruce whipped around just in time to catch a small bag of ice in his stomach and forearms.  His eyes rose to meet with those of Steve Rogers, who gave him a nod, though the look of brutish satisfaction in his eyes wasn’t lost on Bruce.  Even the goody-goody had gotten his hands dirty that night.  Bruce wondered if it was possible to expel an entire high school’s worth of students at once, “You guys can pick the rest of your things up in the student office on Monday.  Drive safe.” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Bruce said, turning back to his friend slumped in the seat.  “Here,” he handed the ice to him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony held the bag to the side of his head that he had hit in the fall, hissing at the contact, “Fuck!”

Bruce watched him as he came around the other side of the mustang and got in.  “This is why I tried to hold you back, you know,” he stated as he slid the keys into the ignition.

“I didn’t mean to hit you or anything, if I did, I just kind of saw red for a sec there. That guy you tackled first... That was Justin Hammer.  He’s got some fucked up vendetta against me bigger than the stick he’s got stuck up his ass.  He’s dumb as a fucking rock, but he isn’t afraid to go after people I care about if he wants to get to me.  And I was scared Pepper would get hurt, or that she already was.”

Bruce roared the engine louder than it needed to be, cutting Tony off.  “Yeah, well, I was scared you’d get hurt, alright??” he barked at the other teen.  Obviously he was still harboring some unallotted anger; he wrung the leather steering wheel with his fists, trying not to grind his teeth.  He shut his eyes.  Tony’s cry of pain had joined the many of his mother’s swirling around in his consciousness, echoing.

“Well alright!” Tony shouted back, wincing as his migraine flared up, then realizing the weight of what Bruce was saying, “I’m... I’m sorry I made you worry.  It’s my fault.  If I’d just left earlier and got Pepper, you and me and her would’ve all been safe and dry in our own homes by now.”

Oh this was so  typical.  If Tony just thought before jumping into things, he wouldn’t find himself having to apologize so often.  And you couldn’t tell Bruce this wasn’t in some way what Tony had wanted-- he’d made that clear with the coolers, by bringing them along in the first place.  His condescension translated through his words as he peeled out of the lot, “Or if we’d never gone at all, we’d be safe and dry and I wouldn’t have two lectures to catch up on besides!”

“Yeah, yeah, because it’s all about what I  want and how I put a gun to your head and made  you come here!” Tony growled out, his anger and frustration not for Bruce, but more for the events that had transpired over the course of the evening, “Don’t you get it?  This wasn’t just about me or Pepper.  And it wasn’t about revenge or school spirit either!  I wanted you  to have a good time.  With me.”  He sighed painfully at the realization that he’d probably failed miserably, “Wow, I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“You said it, not me,” Bruce sniped, staring straight at the road.

“Well I fucking tried!  Sorry!”  He hadn’t been sarcastic in the least when he’s asked that question, and his response certainly wasn’t either.  He focused his eyes on the floor beneath his feet, knowing that if he looked at Bruce he was going to lose it emotionally.  He’d never seen the guy this disappointed in him since before they’d become friends, and back then his opinion hadn’t really mattered.  Now it hurt him more than he could have fathomed.  He wanted to get out of the car and walk.  Or crawl.  Whatever he had to do to avoid this situation right now, he’d do it.  He didn’t even care that it was his car he’d be letting drive away.

“Shut up,” Bruce snapped.  “I just need you to shut up, okay?  I need to think.”

Tony just nodded, feeling hot tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, and turning to look at the road.  He wrung his hands and tried his best to quiet what he already knew was coming over him.  He really, really wanted to get out of the car now.

He had his silence now, but it didn’t make Bruce feel much better, or bring him any of the clarity he was hoping for.  His fingers trembled on the steering wheel, trying to keep a firm grip on it, but he could barely keep a grip on his own emotions.  He was furious at Tony, but yelling at him, thinking it would help... that was his father’s logic.  Through his deep musing, his ears registered a choked off sob, and the present situation came rushing back.  Bruce pulled the car off to the side.

Tony noticed the car slowing to a stop on the shoulder of the road, and in its hazy state his mind couldn’t recall whether or not he’d said out loud that he wanted to get out and walk.  He must have, if Bruce was pulling over.  With shaky hands he yanked at the door handle, and nodded, uttering a hoarse, “Bye.”

Bruce cut the engine and made a grab for Tony, before his friend could escape.  He drew him into a hug, holding onto him for dear life.  “Don’t listen to me,” he implored.  “I didn’t mean it.  I was just angry.”

Tony had since come to understand that there weren’t many things more disarming to him than being in close contact with Bruce Banner.  Any semblance of constraint he had tried to put on himself emotionally had collapsed and he was crying again, really crying.  His chest and his throat were sore from trying to silence himself, and with his head and his ribs he felt like one giant bruise.  But he’d noticed that if the big guy was holding him like this, he really didn’t care.  Bruce combed his fingers through his hair, rocking, trying to soothe the damage he’d done.

Tony realized in some sinister, selfish part of his mind that he didn’t want Bruce to call Betty back, hoping the number had smudged in his palm.  He told himself it would just be unrealistic for Bruce to be able to open up to anyone else overnight, that it was hard enough for Bruce to have Tony as a friend and that he’d probably only have time for one.  Tony had so many reasons, but it didn’t make him feel any less selfish, and it didn’t make the future seem any less uncertain.

“I’m sorry...” he grunted out into his friend’s shoulder.

Bruce forced a chuckle.  “Just say ‘my bad’, it makes it easier to shrug off,” he drew back, quoting his friend’s advice with an embarrassed smile.  “Tonight was a...” he paused and went for the understatement, “mess, but it’s over now.”  He patted his arm.

“I just... I need to stop doing shit that ends up with you being mad at me...” Tony’s brown eyes dropped away.

Bruce felt a sharp pang of guilt.  He needed to stop letting himself get mad at Tony so easily.  He tried to maintain levity.  “Well, Pepper wasn’t mad at you, so somebody had to be for her.”

“Your opinion’s more important to me than Pepper’s!” Tony shot back almost reflexively, eyes widening at the honesty of his answer.  He restated the sentiment softly, almost as if to reaffirm it’s sincerity, “I mean, yeah, it is.”  He felt almost embarrassed to say it.

Bruce cocked an eyebrow.  He was sure that wasn’t true on all accounts, but Tony was upset and he needed to be taken home where he could rest and recover.  “Well, um... thanks,” Bruce said, at a loss for what else he could say.  He restarted the mustang.

Tony gave Bruce an affirming squeeze before sitting up and back in his seat.

“How is this gonna work anyways?  I was supposed to drop you off at home, and now you’re driving and...” Tony stopped.  His head was still aching in spite of his uplift in mood, and he really couldn’t be assed to think out a logical solution, “I have no fucking clue.”

“Eh, I can call a taxicab, it’s no big deal,” he shrugged, though his eyes were on the time displayed on the dashboard.  It was approaching eleven and he was going to arrive home later than he normally did on a Friday night.

“Whatever works I guess.  God, I can’t remember the last time I was this sleepy...” Tony muttered, sentence trailing off at the end.

“If I have to carry you to bed again...” Bruce started, as if posing a threat.

Tony didn’t respond, shrinking a little in his seat, “I was a real pain in the ass that night, I take it.”  He tried to recall once again what had gone on that night, but it was even worse trying to scour his memory now with the pounding headache than it was when he’d woken up that morning with the mother of all hangovers.

“I wish I could remember what the Hell I did, maybe then I could give an honest apology, or fix it or whatever...” he said, hugging his arms.

“No.  I actually...” Bruce lifted a hand off the steering wheel to rub the back of his neck, “I actually liked that night.  Save for you over-doing it and passing out.”

“I over-did  it?  By your conservative standards that could be anything from lewd sexual conduct to pulling a hit and run.”  Tony picked his head up, “Don’t I always over-do it?”

‘A little from column A, a little from column B,’ Bruce thought, lips subconsciously pursing.  “Well, yeah, but there are levels of over-doing it, I guess.”  He brought his teeth down on his lower lip, gnawing slightly.  “But don’t worry about it.”

“Eh, yeah it’ll come back to me at some point.  Then we’ll probably laugh about it, until Pepper finds out and calls us out on how immature we are.”  Upon looking back up at Bruce he saw the other was deep in thought, and it didn’t seem pleasant.  He swung out and hit him in the arm.

“You pout too much.  Haven’t I ever told you you should smile more often?” Tony asked.

Bruce made a smacking sound with his mouth, knowing the boy had.  “Ah... I think you said I should smile ‘all the time’,” he corrected nervously.

Tony blinked, wide eyed for a second.  Had he?  And why did it seem so significant if he had?  God, his brain probably got scrambled on impact.

“Okay, I need to stop thinking, I’m gonna take a nap.  Don’t crash the car.”

Bruce frowned and gave the wheel an intentional jerk.

“Hey!  The fuck?” Tony griped, being shaken out of his near-sleep state by the sudden jerk of the normally smooth ride.

“Stay awake.”

“What?  Why?  I’m tired.  I’ll tuck myself in, just... I need a nap is all.”

Bruce rolled his eyes at the misunderstanding.  “Right, and sleepiness is one of the signs of a concussion, so just... try and stay awake a little longer, okay?  I can turn on some music.  How’s this JARVIS thing work again?”

“Just say his name, tell him what song to play.  He knows your voice already.  You’ve spent enough time around him.”  Tony grumbled.  This was gonna be a long ride, still he supposed it was nice that Bruce had been this concerned.

The teen cleared his throat.  “Uh, JARVIS, could you play...” he paused and then an amusing thought came to his mind, “play whatever you last played?”

“Very good, sir,” the AI confirmed.

“Wait, what?!” Tony piped in.  He couldn’t remember what he’d listened to last... he wasn’t sure whether it’d lead to any potential embarrassment.

An eighties-esque melody began to pump out of the speakers, upbeat and catchy.  That would have been awkward enough, but when the vocalist began singing a very geeky couple of stanzas about DNA, Bruce couldn’t help but laugh.

“What?” Tony half whined, half asked, “Is there something wrong with Jonathan Coulton?”

“Nothing, just...” he covered his mouth to stifle another laugh from escaping.  “You are just such a dork, especially when no one’s looking.  How come you didn’t play this one at the school assembly?” he teased.  Still, it amused him to learn some of his friend’s musical tastes beyond classic rock and roll.

“I’m a dork?” Tony snorted, “All you’re missing is a pair of suspenders and a pocket protector.  And for Godsakes, penny loafers?!  It’s like you’re auditioning for the lead in Revenge of the Nerds the musical!”

“They’re comfortable.  And practical,” Bruce stuck out his tongue; Tony sure had gotten defensive quickly.

“That’s what they said about the fucking Snuggie!  It’s a trap!” Tony pleaded.

“I got my mom one of those last Christmas.”

“You’re getting a pair of fucking sneakers this Christmas, and you’re wearing them as soon as you learn to tie your shoes again.  Don’t you dare say no, either.  If I see a homeless man wearing your sneakers so help me God...  And as for your mom?  Dude!” Tony made a face of disgust, “I thought you loved her.”

Bruce just shook his head.  Well, he’d accomplished waking his friend up, if the fashion ranting was any proof.  He’d probably end up with a pair of designer jeans and Axe body spray as well.

“Hey Bruce?” Tony asked timidly, after a few seconds of pause.

“Hm?”

“What do you want for Christmas?”  He sounded genuinely curious.

“A little early to be thinking about shopping, isn’t it?” Bruce questioned.  “But uh, books are usually a safe bet, so long as you can find one I don’t already own.”

“Well if you’d shown me your secret porn stash, I’d have been able to cross them off the list,” Tony scoffed half-heartedly, “But I suppose I could do some searching around.”

Bruce scratched the back of his head off the steering wheel.  “What about you?”

“Hm?  Oh.  Nah, it’s really silly, I’d feel dumb saying it.”

“Are you planning to write to Santa Claus so he’ll get it for you?”

“Shut up.”  Tony shoved lightly at his friend’s arm, “It’s not something like that anyway.”

“I don’t see how it could make you sound any dumber than usual,” Bruce commented offhandedly.

Tony sighed, “It’s gonna sound really sappy, but I just want things to stay the way they are, like this, I mean, this is the best things have been for me in a while.  You know that a big part of that is because of you, right?”

“Well, I guess...” Bruce responded, a small smile tugging his lips upwards.

“See?  I’m right.  You do need to smile more.  It’s a nice smile too,” Tony badgered.

“Well, maybe I can work on it,” Bruce agreed.  “Because things have been better for me too.  Tonight, ah... notwithstanding.”

“Hey, it’s cool.  I’ll make it up to you some other night,” Tony said, glancing warmly back at his friend, “Just you and me.”

That sounded good.  Maybe some other day when he could spend the night at Tony’s, or vice versa, just hang out again together without all the stress of other peers being around.  It would be really enjoyable.

“No homo,” Tony said, breaking his serious face with a snort of laughter.  Bruce gave a chuckle as well.  After that, the conversation died down for the remainder of the ride, replaced with ‘That Spells DNA’ on repeat, the both of them singing along to keep Tony awake as soon as Bruce had a decent grasp on the words.

“Hey... this is weird,” Tony remarked after some time had passed, patting his abdomen, “I don’t know why, but I have this killer craving for shawarma right now.”

Bruce parked the car abruptly.  “Well, tough shit, we’re back and I’m not turning around.  Think you can walk?”

“Still a little dizzy...” Tony murmured, shaken a little by the abrupt stop, “I can give it a shot.”

“No... here,” Bruce shut off the car and got out to come around the other side.  He pulled one of Tony’s arms over his shoulders.  “Lean on me, alright?  We’ll get you inside and I’ll check you out.”

Tony nodded, doing as he was told and leaning on his friend so he could help walk him to the door.

“And here’s your keys back,” Bruce shoved them into Tony’s back pocket.

Tony jumped at the unexpected contact, “Hey!  The Hell’re you trying to cop a free feel?”

“I think if that had been my goal, I would’ve done a bit better job,” Bruce commented flatly, starting them towards the porch.

Tony snorted in response.  “Puh-lease,” ‘Why don’t you show me?’   “I can’t imagine you grabbing a shoulder  sexually,” ‘Liar,’  “Let alone an ass.” ‘Liar, liar, liar, liar.’

Bruce rolled his eyes.  “Your dad’s home, isn’t he?” he asked.

“Yeah, but he can’t see through solid objects any better than we can,” Tony retorted, before realizing he’d just thought it out loud.

“What?” Bruce didn’t follow that logic.

Tony swallowed hard, and went for the save, “I mean, we gotta knock or something, or he won’t know we’re here.  Duh.”

“Oh.”  Bruce reached for the doorbell, depressing it.  Through the door he could hear the chimes inside.  He wasn’t quite sure what he was planning to say to Tony’s father when he answered... probably best if he just left most of the talking to his friend; he hoped Tony had a decent explanation prepared.

Howard Stark lowered his copy of Scientific American when he heard the bell, uncrossing his legs to rise from where he’d settled for the evening in his easy chair.  He tightened the fastener on his robe before opening the door.

“Son.”

“Dad.”

“Have fun at the bonfire, then?”

“Yes and no.”

“Hmm,” Howard took a sip of his scotch, swallowing, “Glendale go apeshit again?”

“Yep.  Kicked a few asses.”

“Got your ass kicked...” Bruce added with a mumble under his breath.  Tony and his father were certainly... efficient, if nothing else.

Howard had to smirk, “‘At a boy.  I’ll call the lawyers first thing in the morning.”  He paused, eyes defocused and radiating a sense of nostalgia.  “Glendale.  Those old scallywags never knew when to quit...”

Bruce cleared his throat to garner Mr. Stark’s attention.  “Your son took a few hits during the...” oh what to call it?  Fight?  Scuffle?  What got across the idea without sounding too serious?  “Altercation,” he chose.

The older man hummed.  “He never did learn the value of ducking,” he commented as he extended his free hand to prod around Tony’s cranium.  Bruce gave a snort-- wasn’t that the truth.

“I’m right here, you know,” Tony said, giving a sudden wince and hiss when his father’s fingers grazed over a decent sized bump forming under his hair.

“Concussion?” the senior Stark inquired.

“Didn’t really get the opportunity to check, Mr. Stark, sir,” Bruce spoke up, finding this whole dialogue curious by the fact that Tony’s dad didn’t seem surprised or upset in the slightest.  His own father-- well, he didn’t want to finish that thought.  He had to conclude this wasn’t the first time Tony had come home like this.  “You happen to have a flashlight handy?”

Howard clicked his tongue, “Come in and sit down.  I’ll go get it.”

Bruce nodded and pulled Tony over the threshold, starting for the living room couch.  He didn’t get far before he was reprimanded.

“Shoes!” both Tony and Howard droned at nearly the same time.

‘Could you be any  more  of a chip off the old block?’ Bruce rolled his eyes to himself, somewhat exasperated.  There were more important things at stake than having a little dirt tracked in onto the carpet.  Still, he complied.  House rules were house rules.  “And you want me to wear sneakers,” he mumbled to his friend as he kicked off his loafers.  He got Tony’s shoes off as well before dragging him to the sofa to let him lie down across it, fingers lingering on the other boy’s forearm.  Tony’s gaze connected with his--

“You’re Bruce, then?” Howard half-asked, half-stated as he re-entered with the flashlight.

The teenager took a brief sideways glance at his friend; with as little as Tony said he and his dad talked, Bruce was a little surprised his name was known.  “Yeah.  Bruce Banner,” he introduced himself fully, extending his hand.

Howard took it, his handshake firm, but not overbearingly so, nodding at the teenager’s response, “I know.  I’ve read the notes on your mother’s tupperware containers.  Seems like a nice woman, especially if you’re the kind of man who judges women based on their cooking.”  He gave a brief snort, the only visible sign that he’d probably been joking.

Bruce dismissed the off-color humor and took the flashlight, flicking it on.  “So how’s Pepper’s cooking?” he inquired of his friend sarcastically, before putting his forefinger and thumb on the upper and lower lids of Tony’s left eye.  He held it open and proceeded to shine the light in, watching his pupil contract in response.

“A little on the spicy side,” Howard answered for him, “but all in all, not very filling.”

“Dad, you’re being creepy...” Tony warned.

“We’re talking about food, boy.  Head out of the gutter.”

As if that were possible.  Bruce gave a grunt and moved onto Tony’s other eye, performing the same check.  He hesitated somewhat-- it wasn’t often his and Tony’s face were this close together, though recently  it seemed to keep coming up.  He quickly pushed his glasses up his nose to get better focal length (though on the outside it read more as a nervous tick) before readjusting his grip on the flashlight.  He really couldn’t help but notice how Tony’s dark irises got somewhat lighter towards the pupil, almost chestnutty.  It was more pronounced in the direct light.  Seeing no unsatisfactory results that would give him cause for concern (and recognizing that if he stared any longer, it would be him they were calling creepy), Bruce clicked the light back off and handed it back to Tony’s father.

“You know, back when Steve Senior and I went to Westmore--”

“Oh God...” Tony moaned, rubbing his eyes.

“We used to ride by Glendale on the way to school in the morning and catcall the cheerleaders. And one day Stevie managed to convince one of them to go on a date with him.”  Howard snorted, “I heard it went well, ‘til her boyfriend was finished with football practice and happened to swing by the diner they were sharing a milkshake in.”  He paused again, “Did I ever tell you how I learned how to check for a concussion?  Oh yes.  Just now,” he finished in a bored, humdrum manner.

Bruce tried to chuckle at the tale out of politeness but only half succeeded.  He pulled up his sleeve to glance at his wristwatch, internally cringing at the hour and minute hands displaying eleven forty...

“I’ll take you home,” Howard’s voice cut through the air.  “Tony, pop a pill and go to bed.”

“Which one?”

“Whichever, but if you want to be able to sleep without seeing faces in the walls, avoid everything in the medicine cabinet but the aspirin.”

“Got’cha; take one of everything but the aspirin,” Tony snarked, balanced enough now to be able to handle a trip to the bathroom and a trip to bed.

“Y-you d-don’t have to...” it was as close to a stutter as came out of Bruce’s mouth.  The idea of being chauffeured by billionaire Howard Stark was humbling, to say the least.  The fellow wasn’t even dressed for it.

“You’re right.  I don’t.”  Howard smirked, standing up, “Come along.”  He headed toward the front door, grabbing his keys off the hook, opening and holding the door open for Bruce.

Bruce cleared his throat but didn’t argue.  He slipped his shoes back on and took one glance back into the house, seeking Tony out.

“Say goodnight to your friend, Tony,” Howard called back gruffly.

“I’m not five, dad,” Tony turned around with a groan, though his smile couldn’t help but break through, especially so after making eye contact with Bruce.  They shared a brief moment across the room.

“That sounded like a goodnight to me,” Howard shrugged.

Bruce was silent as he followed Tony’s father along to the garage.  The slippered man lifted the bay door with a click of his opener, revealing a pearlescent silver-and-ivory vintage Bentley.  Bruce stared, snapping out of it only when Howard had unlocked the passenger side door for him to climb inside.  He sat rather self-consciously, stiff-backed and staring at the old-timey wooden instrument panel.

Howard started the engine, shifting into drive and pulling out onto the road, “So, you and Tony have been spending a lot of time together.”  It wasn’t a question; he noticed the boy’s nervousness and obviously pained posture, “Relax.  That’s an order.”

Bruce cleared his throat and attempted to do as asked.  “We have,” he responded affirmatively, though he couldn’t help but wonder where this conversation was going.

“Has he been okay?  This past week has he told you anything?”  He spoke in a very uninterested way, but if someone really paid attention they’d notice the slightest strains in his voice and mannerisms while asking.

The personal nature of the question helped ease Bruce into a less tense state.  “Yeah, he’s uh... been alright.”  He paused a moment before adding, “I understand this isn’t the easiest time of year for you both.  Tony... Tony’s told me quite a bit,” he settled.

“I’ve overheard a lot myself.  He’s always pissing and moaning about Bruce, or calling Bruce, or texting Bruce, or cracking skulls with Bruce.  That’s a new one, by the way.”

“Say, Tony isn’t funny, is he?” Howard posed, raising an eyebrow.

Bruce opened his mouth to respond, only to shut it again.  “I don’t think I... catch your meaning,” he evaded less than gracefully.

“He hasn’t had any girls over since Pepper, and I just figured maybe...”

Bruce readjusted his spectacles, resisting the urge to drop his face down into his palm.  “He’s assured me he is not a homosexual, Mr. Stark.”  God, what an awkward question to have to answer on his friend’s behalf.

“Not a crime if he was.  I just want to try and be in the loop now.”

Bruce nodded, knowing that was true, to the dismay of his friend.

Howard turned a corner smoothly, slowing to a stop at the next traffic light, “Well funny or not, he really likes you I guess.”

“Yeah.  We complement one another.” ‘In some crazy way,’ his mind tacked on.

“You seem like a nice young man, Bruce.  I’m not too stubborn to ask for help when it comes to my son, and it looks to me like you know him better than I do right now.  I’m going to assume that if he trusts you with any dangerous information, maybe you’ll pass it on discreetly?”  He eased off the brake as the light turned green, accelerating.

Bruce cleared his throat and scratched an errant itch on his collarbone.  “Well, you might want to get a lock for your liquor cabinet.”

Howard chuckled knowingly, “Let me ask you something.  If you take all the knives and sharp objects away from a suicidal person, does it make them less suicidal?”

Bruce frowned at the subvert comment.  “It’s not a matter of removing the temptation so much as it is about addressing the underlying cause.  It’s disease versus symptom.  Cutting is a symptom, depression is a disease.  If you want to cure a disease, you have to target it, identify it through the victim’s symptoms.”  He paused before transitioning away from theoreticals and back to the matter at hand.  “I don’t expect locking the liquor cabinet to cure Tony’s alcoholism, but I think it would be a step in the right direction towards cleaning him up.”

“Smart boy.  I can see why Tony likes you.”  Howard paused momentarily, wetting his lips, “I’ve put a lock on the cabinet before.  Several times.  He’s found ways around it, and I don’t want him out there buying alcohol.  I can’t be around all the time to stop him either.  Take away the vice and he’ll get desperate.  It took me all these years to clue in on what was really wrong with him, but I’m sure you figured it out a long time ago.”

Bruce felt his hackles raise, but he remained controlled.  “And what’s ‘wrong’ with him, Mr. Stark?” he placed emphasis on the word.

“He’s just lonely.  He’s been lonely for a long time,” Howard sighed out, sounding half exasperated and half as if he were bothered to state the obvious, “He’s felt abandoned by everyone since he was a kid, and I should’ve been there for him, but I got selfish.  I’m sure you already know all of that.  Kid always did like to ramble on and on when he got a chance to say something.”

Bruce drummed his fingers on the armrest.  How Tony’s father could say all this without some semblance of remorse spoke worlds of the problem at hand.  “He was probably hoping someone would start listening,” he observed bluntly.

“From what I can gather, you did.”  The man stared solemnly out the windshield.  “Thanks for being a better man than I was.”

The profound words left Bruce somewhat at odds with himself.  He appreciated the sentiment, honestly and truly, but it also made him think back to September, how he’d tried to blow Tony off so many times and just get him to leave him alone.  If they hadn’t formed this friendship, where would Tony be?  Hell, where would he be?

Howard inhaled slowly through his nose, “I’m making an effort now.  And as callous as it sounds, I don’t have time to dwell on the past if I want to make things better before he’s out of my life for good.  We lost his mom together.”  He paused, sighing heavily, “And if there’s any way to keep the same thing from happening with each other then... Hm.”  Howard paused in his speech at the intersection, “We turning up here?”

“Yeah, it’s just a little further up.  On the left, just past the street light.”

“Alright then,” Howard put his signal on and turned the wheel, “You want to talk about a cure, I think you’re the closest thing so far.”

“We’re friends.  I want him to be able to be happy.”  Bruce wet his lips, adding with a hint of sadness, “It’s too bad we didn’t get to know each other sooner.”

“Hm, yeah, I know the feeling.  But don’t waste your time dwelling on it.  You could end up in the driver’s seat of this conversation in twenty years.”

“Yeah,” Bruce vocalized.

Howard brought the vehicle to a stop along the curb.  “What I’m asking is for you to keep doing whatever it is you’re doing, because it’s helping him, and he is happy.  And I’ll keep doing my part on the home field.  Does that sound reasonable to you?”

Bruce reached for the door handle.  “I’ll do that.”  He hesitated, one foot in and one foot out, stomach knotting as he stared at the looming household.

The older Stark noticed how nervous the boy looked when they pulled up to the curb, glancing at his watch once again.  Reaching into his glove box, he pulled out his card, “Tell the folks I’ll be calling them in the morning to personally reward them for helping my son.  That should take the edge off.  If not, tell ‘em to call my lawyer.”

The teenager lifted an eyebrow, taking the small 2” x 3.5” card.  “My father isn’t big on hand-outs...” he said, advising against it.  If it was anything more than a ‘thank you’ or fruit basket, there was a strong probability he’d take offense.

“I’m just making sure that before you get an earful, it gets forwarded to me.  I engineer weaponry for a living; I’m used to worse than angry phone calls.  And I’m probably not over-embellishing by saying you probably saved my boy a hospital visit today.  I’m not that experienced in the whole parenting paradigm, but I’d wager that trumps a grounding.”

Bruce’s jaw clenched somewhat at the thought, but he nodded.  “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“Call me Howard.  I’m off the clock.”

“Have a good evening,” Bruce excused himself.

“It’s looking up already,” Howard said with an honest smile as Bruce closed the door.  He paused in thought before starting the engine, rolling the passenger side window down, “One more thing...”

The teenager turned in his next step up the driveway.  “What is it?”

“Stay the Hell out of my liquor cabinet.”  Howard forced a convincing scowl which made Bruce flinch, before breaking into a chuckle indicative of how serious he actually was, “Have a good night, kiddo.”

\--

In the bathroom Tony stared at the aspirins in one hand and the glass of scotch in the other.  He’d been debating this since Bruce had left with his father.  Finally, snorting in frustration, he dumped the contents of the glass into the sink.  He turned the tap on, rinsing all traces and filling the glass halfway with cold water.  He promised Bruce he’d kick the habit, and now was as good a time to start as any.  He popped the painkillers and washed them down, face twisting in disgust at the plain, tasteless liquid.  There was no kick, no burn, no buzz.  But there was respect.  Even if Bruce hadn’t seen him, he knew that he’d had an opportunity to give in, and had avoided it.

An image of Bruce came to mind as he laid himself down in bed that night.  Normally he’d attempt to block it out, or ignore it, but as conflicted as Tony was right now, he decided to forego all the complicated thought processes and just enjoy one of the simplest pleasures a man could indulge in.  Undoing the drawstring on his pajamas and closing his eyes, he told himself that even Bruce would think he’d earned as much after such a trying day.  And then, the dream Bruce who’d been encouraging him thus far stopped talking.  He adjusted his glasses like always, before finding something better to do with that smartass mouth of his.

\--

He must have spun the wheel and gotten lucky finally, because both of his parents were in bed asleep when Howard had driven off and Bruce stole silently into the house.

Which was good.  If any more stress was added to today, his head might well have exploded.

The talk with Tony’s father just now, the fight that had broken out in the parking lot, running into Betty...

Betty.

Bruce looked down into his palm where she had written her number.  It was fainter now, and somewhat smudged, but still legible.  He got a pen and opened the drawer with the polaroid in it, pulling it out to transcribe the number onto the back of the old photograph.  A tiny smile tugged his lips when he realized she’d intentionally written it into his left hand.  It was still a decision, he reminded himself as he slipped the photo back into his desk.  He could call her or he could not, but at least now he had the option.

Sighing, Bruce sprawled out onto his bed.  He needed sleep and he knew it.  It had been a long day (what else was new?) but today had been particularly trying.  It was no small surprise to him that he had snapped and lost all rational control again.

However, he had to admit, the trigger had been different than usual...

Normally the episodes were a result of his own brewing anger finally bubbling over.  Home-related stress.  School-related stress.  Social anxiety.  Tonight though, his bestial side had emerged in the need to protect his friend.  He hadn’t been the one to start the violence... he’d actually ended it...

It was a small consolation to the knowledge that deep down there was something pathologically wrong with him, but at least he could say something good had come of it.

Especially that Tony was okay.  Bruce sat up, drawing his legs up to his chest.  He wished he’d gotten a better goodbye upon leaving the Stark household-- lately Tony had taken to giving him short, sometimes one-armed, sometimes both-armed hugs whenever they parted.  He recognized however, that with his father present, it would’ve been a cold day in Hell before Tony showed him that kind of affection.

Not that he knew why he should miss it so badly anyway.  It was just a couple of fleeting seconds of contact.  Logically it gave him nothing more than the knowledge that Tony cared about him, which he knew anyway without the exchange of physical gesture.  Besides, he’d probably get one tomorrow, assuming he could wade his way through enough of his work to reward himself with a visit.

Bruce glanced at his watch.  12:45.  He gave another sigh and eyed his pillow.  He might need sleep, but his brain didn’t want it.  It wanted to stay up and think about all the things about the day that were unresolved and begging for a solution that he couldn’t come up with no matter how long or hard he thought about them.  He slid his phone from his pocket, staring at the unlit screen.  It was so tempting to shoot his friend a text.  Around Tony his head didn’t get all jumbled like this, around Tony he could let all those troublesome thoughts go.   He shut his eyes.

He pictured his friend within the darkness of his eyelids.  ‘Maybe you should, oh I don’t know... actually take my advice for once and get laid?  C’mon!  Name a name.’   Bruce rolled his eyes. Great, even an imaginary  Tony wouldn’t let that subject die.   ‘Fine, I’ll drop it.  But seriously.  You worry way too much, big guy.’

Bruce sighed again, opening his eyes.  He realized that was probably true, but it was easier for Tony than it was for him to say ‘Fuck it.’ and move on.  Absently, he drummed his fingers against the mattress; it occurred to him that he did have something that would help him relax.  Something from Tony even, though the other teen didn’t technically know it...

Frowning, Bruce stood to go over to his closet.  He located the shirt he’d been wearing that Sunday up in the attic.  He could smell the tobacco smoke still lingering in the garment ever so faintly, and in the pocket was the pack of cigarettes he’d absconded with.  He wasn’t quite sure why he hadn’t removed them before, maybe he’d thought he’d just forget they were there and be surprised later on to stumble across them again, as stupid as that sounded.  He grabbed the little paper box, considering it and the words Tony had cautioned him with-- ‘Don’t go making a habit out of it.’

Bruce rolled his eyes.  As if Tony would listen to his own advice if he gave it to himself.  Besides, he just needed to calm down tonight.  Even Tony would think he’d earned as much after such a trying day.

Donning his jacket once again, Bruce went out to the kitchen to find the matches.  They were where they always were-- in the drawer beside the scissors and roll of tape.  It was too dark to really see, so he gave the little matchbox a shake, the rattle inside confirming there were plenty.  He ran his thumb over the rough edge as he unlocked the front door and stepped out into the early November morning.

Suppressing a shiver, he drew up the zipper on his jacket and eyed the vacant street.  It was just him, the streetlights, and the stars.

Bruce drew back the hinged lid on the pack, giving it a light tap on his palm.  He selected the volunteer sticking out the furthest, placing it between his lips as he put the rest back in his pocket.  He removed a match and struck it across red phosphorous strip, a flame bursting to life at the end.  Quickly, he shielded it from the breeze and raised both hands to let it lick the tip of the cigarette, drawing in a breath to coax it to light.  It took a couple quick uninhaled puffs to get it started, but then he was able to shake the match out before it could burn his fingers.

He leaned against the stucco arch as he took his first real draw.  It was probably the placebo effect talking, but already he felt a sense of relaxation; he shut his eyes and tipped his head back.

For a while he thought about nothing.  Nothing but the warm smoke mingled with the cold air entering his lungs and the silence of the night around him.  There was serenity in nothingness.  His eyes fluttered open to gaze down at the glowing orange specks partially obscured by ash, watching the luminosity increase when took another puff.  He tapped it off against the edge of the house as he exhaled.  As nice as it was to stand out here alone, it was missing the companionship that would bring him true peace.

Bruce slid his phone out again to compose a text.  ‘Wish you were here.’  He didn’t really care if Tony got it right now or later or sometime in the morning, he just wanted to express the sentiment.  He hit send and put it back in his pocket, resuming his smoke.

He only got a couple more draws before he’d burnt it down nearly to the filter.  His lips quirked into a frown then, considering the smoldering butt.  He hadn’t thought this far ahead.  Lifting a foot, he stubbed it out against the sole of his shoe.

It had been a nice reprieve, but regrettably short.  He pulled the pack back out and took another.

By the end of the second, the tips of his fingers felt like they were going to freeze off from standing out in the cold.  He opened the pack one last time, just to check how many were left-- six.  Telling himself that number was unimportant, he flipped it back shut and pushed it deep into his jacket pocket, as if the deeper he could get it to go, the less likely it would be to come back out.  He bent down to lift one of his mother’s flower pots on the porch, hiding the spent butts underneath it for the time being.  He then went back inside, shuddering involuntarily at the drastic temperature change as he rubbed his hands together.

One thing was for sure, he no longer felt anywhere near as high-strung as he had before he’d stepped out for his smoke.

Bruce went about his nightly routine of bedding down for the evening, taking special care in brushing his teeth and tongue.  By the time he was turning out his light and crawling beneath the covers, it was a quarter after one, and with any luck, he’d wake up refreshed and able to tackle the day.

After all, he was already looking forward to seeing Tony.

\--

“Just close your eyes.”

“Tony,” he delivered derisively, not eager to play this game again so soon after it had burned him the last time.

“I mean it, just close ‘em.”

Bruce sighed dramatically.  He humored his friend and let his eyes shut.

“Oh wow, you’re actually listening for once?  You sure you don’t wanna debate for another twenty minutes?”

He kept his eyes shut but still issued a response.  “Well I could, if that’s what you’d really li--” his words were cut off by the sensation of damp heat around his cock, and his eyes sprung open.  Since when had they both gotten undressed?  And since when had he gotten erect?  And why was Tony--

The other teen made a soft humming noise that sent shivers right up his spine.  Tony lifted his mouth from its work with an audible pop to give him a smirk, replacing it with a goading hand.  “My bad, I cut you off.  What was that you were saying?”

Bruce found his hands were furled into the bedspread, teeth lightly clenched in his jaw, “Tony, what the Hell are you--”

“Dodging questions again?” Tony chided, dragging the pad of his thumb in slow, torturous circles over the underside of the head, “Come on, I thought you had gotten over that.”

The motion drew an automatic groan from Bruce’s throat, toes curling.

Tony leaned over him, bending down to brush his still moist lips along his earlobe as he spoke, “You’re too quiet, big guy.  I want you to moan for me.”

“You would,” Bruce grumbled, showing stubborn restraint.  None of this added up.  The situation was implausible.  Tony couldn’t have crept into his house in the dead of night to come in here and do this.

“You’re thinking too much again.”  Tony shook his head, hand persisting in its ministrations, “You wished I was here, and now I am.  You should be happy; just enjoy it.”

Bruce’s eyebrow lifted.  Wait.  That was the text he’d sent before bed.  Tony hadn’t responded; he hadn’t gotten it.  He wouldn’t know that.

So he was dreaming.

His heart was still pounding, arousal stiff and leaking in the other boy’s hand.  Bruce watched Tony flash him a toothy smirk, and Bruce returned it.

Tony’s face rearranged into a petulant pout.  Obviously it hadn’t been the reaction he was looking for.

“And you talk too much, so let’s make a deal...” Bruce murmured, reaching up behind the other teen’s head to wrap his fingers around the nape of his neck.  Tony gave a little gasp.  “I’ll quit thinking, and you quit talking.”  With a rough shove he forced his friend’s face back down to his groin.  He supplied a sharp pinch to the other’s neck.

“Ow!  God, repressed much?!” Tony griped.

It got his mouth back open.  Bruce slid his fingers to the back of Tony’s skull to keep it steady, pushing his arousal past parted lips and into the moist warmth of his friend’s compliant mouth.  He took a thrust, feeling it hit the back of the other’s throat; another low groan rumbled from his chest.

He kept his thrusts more shallow from then on, but increased their frequency, enjoying how Tony’s cheeks hollowed and sucked at him.  Tony’s dream incarnate didn’t need lessons from Pepper, either that or he’d already gotten them.  Bruce removed his glasses with a quick flick, setting them off to the side before settling both hands on Tony’s head.  His fingers brushed through the short hair as he guided him, rubbing his scalp encouragingly.  “So which would you rather I grab onto when I climax?  Your neck or your hair?” he asked lowly, feeling the muscles in his lower abdomen twitching and stirring.

Tony hummed around his erection, having no way to communicate his answer audibly, instead shrugging his shoulders softly.  It had been more of a rhetorical question anyway.  Tony’s hands wandered along whatever of Bruce’s skin they could reach.  The sensation nearly raised goosebumps on his flesh; Bruce wondered subtly if it felt just as good in the waking world as here, caught in a dream.  If Tony’s mouth was really so wet and warm and... eager.

He wasn’t supposed to be thinking though.  Bruce dropped a hand to smooth it down his friend’s neck and shoulder.  The other tipped his head to offer more and he took it, running his thumb up along the column of Tony’s throat.  Instinctively Tony swallowed, and Bruce watched with keen interest as his adam’s apple traveled up and back down again.  His dick gave a hard twitch.

Guidance wasn’t necessary any more.  Tony was bobbing on his own, palms pressed firmly into his thighs for leverage.  With a moan Bruce let his head fall back and his body buck; he swept his hands over the other boy’s back and shoulder blades... as far as he could reach in their present configuration.  He was panting and thrusting and it felt so good, imagined or not.  He tried to hold back, but he was at the end of his rope.  There wasn’t any influencing the dream from here.

He came into Tony’s mouth with a poorly muffled grunt, fingers digging into his shoulders.  When he’d finished jerking and spasming, Tony withdrew, swallowing again, but this time with a pointed grimace.  He half expected him to make a snide comment about ‘the earth-shatteringness of it’ or the other, but the teen remained silent.  Bruce took another moment to recover, chest still heaving somewhat.  He sat up and reached out to cup the other boy’s cheek.  The dream Tony looked surprised by the move, but curious.

Bruce looked into his eyes, seeing his reflection within them.  “You’re a lousy kisser when you’re drunk,” he imparted before bringing their lips together to share a fervent kiss.

And just like that Bruce jerked awake.  He was alone and in his bed, the hints of dawn beginning to cast over the horizon and through his window.  He rolled over groggily, trying not to be too disgusted by the sticky situation in his boxers (and how it came to be there) as he groped for his phone on the nightstand.  A text was waiting.

‘Well, obviously I can’t come tonight.  You can come anytime you want, though.  Just gimme a heads-up first.’

Upon reading the message, Bruce pressed the pads of his thumb and forefinger into his eyes and gave a forceful exhale through his nose. Of all the ways to word that text...

Bruce keyed a quick _'Thanks'_ before easing out of his bed and making the preparations for a much needed cold shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is the first chapter posted since I got my shiny new AO3 account. Now that I'm officially listed as a collaborator, I just wanted to thank everybody who has read this, left a comment or given Kudos thus far. I'm humbled by how well received this fic has turned out to be. Between writing for Tony and reading all the great things you guys have to say, I'm feeling so much more confident with myself and my writing lately. For that I'm really truly grateful. So thank you, and have a great Christmas week. Also, keep an eye on this, because new chapters will continue to be posted roughly every five days(not counting this late one), so you can definitely expect another by Christmas!
> 
> Stay awesome, and Happy(Slash-y) Holidays <3  
> ChevySK


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shoes Tony got Bruce: http://www.famousfootwear.com/en-US/Product/94309-1026891/Sperry+Top-Sider/Sw+Navy/Mens+Halyard+Laceless.aspx

_‘Only fourteen shopping days til Christmas!’_ Tony texted as soon as he’d sat down in homeroom.  He dropped his backpack on the floor and slouched into his chair in the forty seconds it took for Bruce to respond, his phone’s screen flashing bright,

_‘Thanks for the update.  But are you really planning on doing this everyday until Christmas morning?’_

Tony grinned; he’d started sending them yesterday.  His fingers were already working on his response at lightning speed, _‘Of course not.  I’m stopping on Christmas Eve.’_

He typed out one more and hit send, _‘...next year.’_

_‘Between you and Thor, I’ll have you know I’m not getting *any* last-minute studying done for my Calculus final.’_  Tony grinned again, he could almost _see_ Bruce adjust his glasses between the texts.  The big guy could pretend, but at this point Tony could discern the subtle difference between actually annoyed Bruce and pretending-to-be-annoyed Bruce.  A longer text followed.   _‘I’d been attempting to teach him how to pass notes last week, but he didn’t seem to be able to get it through his skull that the note’s recipient didn’t need to be told “Hark, I bear a message of great importance for you!  Take caution that those around you do not gaze upon it.”.  Got detention for that one.  Did you know, he’s still “regaling” us about the final pass that won the Bilge Snipes the big game?’_

Tony typed his response after he had suppressed his chuckling, _‘Kind of hard *not* to win after nearly all their power players got busted for the shit they pulled.  Who knew using a pressure washer at ten yards was considered assault?  You know, *besides* dad’s lawyer.’_

He continued, thumbs striking the touchpad.   _‘Still, I heard Thor wiped the floor with them anyways.  Guess even an “honorable warrior” can hold a grudge.’_

_‘He’s definitely better at passing a football than notes.’_

Tony rolled his eyes at the pun, _‘Well, better pass than fumble.  Speaking of fumbles, did Pepper tell you why she and Happy broke up yet?’_  All he knew was it had happened very shortly after the game ended and that Happy hadn’t been very happy lately.

There was a long stretch of radio silence, long enough to make Tony wonder if he was going to get anything back or if Bruce had put him on silent to study for the Calculus final he was already guaranteed to get a 100 on.  He gave a pout.  When his screen lit up, he jumped in his seat and hurried to check it.   _‘I’m fairly certain it was because she desperately wants you to take her back.’_

Another followed.   _‘That was sarcasm, by the way.’_

_‘Ha.’_

_‘Ha.’_

_‘Ha.’_

Tony sent in three separate texts.   _‘You’re adorable, you know that?’_  He felt a little self conscious about that one, but sent it anyway.  Hastily he followed it up, as if to cover-up.

_‘So, your new fanclub still fawning over you?’_ Tony chuckled as he sent it.  Bruce had gotten a standing ovation upon walking into homeroom the Monday after the bonfire.  Apparently word had gotten around fast, thanks to students with camera phones and itchy texting and/or tweeting fingers, and Bruce and himself (along with a few of the other key players in the bonfire brawl) were being hailed as vigilante heroes.

Tony was used to getting lots of attention, and it hadn’t phased him much.  Poor Bruce, however, had been mortified at the sudden onset of positive attention.  It was pretty hilarious (and cute, Tony had to admit) to see Bruce dodging and running from random students for the first few days as if they intended to skin him alive when all they really wanted was to ask where he’d learned his moves.

He’d like to teach Bruce a few moves from his personal arsenal.   _‘Not now,’_ he told himself.

_‘I think they’ve mostly found other things to obsess over.  It was only a matter of time.  Which should make you happy.  It will no longer be detracting from yours.’_

Tony was entering in a response when another text came in from his friend.   _‘If you’re not busy after school, did you want to go to the mall?’_

His eyebrows raised, and he backspaced what he had previously written, typing out his new response, _‘Sure.  We just bumming around or are we buying stuff?’_

_‘Only fourteen days left, as you so astutely observed.’_

_‘Tsk, tsk.  You don’t want my gift to be a surprise?’_

_‘I didn’t presume we’d be buying for each other.  You’re not the only person on my list to buy for, and I already wrapped yours.’_

Tony rolled his eyes, _‘Bull.  Shit.  You’re saying that now so I give up on guessing early.’_

_‘That would be a losing proposition.  You never give up.  Catch you later; good luck on your finals.’_

_‘Damn straight.  Only thing I’ve ever given up on is drinking, and that’s only because you wouldn’t stop whining. :P’_  Scrunching his brows, he typed up one more and hit send, _‘And FYI, I don’t need luck.  But thanks for offering.’_

Tony drummed his pencil on his desk, satisfied with his last text.

For all of about thirty seconds.

_‘Oh, and good luck to you too. Not that you need it.’_

\--

The parking lot of the local mall was packed with holiday shoppers.  Bruce considered himself lucky to be coming in on his moped-- motorcycle parking was in abundance (even with the entitled douchebag who had illegally parked his 4x4 there).  He removed his helmet but kept his gloves and scarf on as he headed for the northern entrance.  There was a bellringer for the Salvation Army stationed beside the door; they exchanged greetings.

_‘At the entrance to Penny’s.’_ Bruce informed his friend of his location via text, though the gloves made it slightly more awkward.

_‘Still on the road.  Might be a little late.’_

_‘Using JARVIS?’_

_‘Voice to text, yeah.  Stop worrying.  One half-ass dad is enough.  Colon capitol pea.’_

_‘Okay, fuck voice to text.  See you in fifteen.’_

Bruce smiled in subtle amusement and then gave a silent hum.  He removed his glove with his teeth to speed the process up a bit.   _‘Don’t bother coming up the rows, just save yourself some time and park in the back.’_

_‘Got it.  See you soon.’_

Well, there was no point in standing out here freezing for the next fifteen minutes.  He turned to pull open the door, holding it open for an exiting couple before entering himself.  He pulled off his other glove and shoved them both under his armpit to rub his hands together before cupping them over his face and breathing into them, willing his chilled nose to warm.  The rest of him might have been bundled up on the drive over, but his face had not.  Thankfully it was well heated inside the department store and already he could feel the pin-pricky sensation beginning to wane.

He spent the next several minutes aimlessly browsing around, not straying too far from the entrance, affording a glance in its direction every once and a while for his friend.  Pausing in the shoe department, he wondered just how trolled Tony would be to receive a pair of penny loafers for Christmas.

He was interrupted from his musings by the sound of the automatic doors of the front entrance sliding open from a short distance away.

“Oh Hell no. You are _not_ buying a second pair.”

Bruce grinned at the voice he heard over his shoulder.  He picked up the shoe, turning around to display it.  “But it comes in cocoa and navy.  My current pair is black.”  He looked down at his feet and wiggled his toes in the footwear.

“Oh God, it’s worse than I thought. Bruce, put the shoes down and back away slowly.”

He struck the top of his friend’s head with the heel lightly much like one would a misbehaving puppy.  “I’m not actually buying them.”

Tony swatted the shoe away, rubbing his forehead with his other hand. He wasn’t buying Bruce’s line, “Okay. Emergency intervention. Now. We’re putting Christmas shopping on hold until we get you some help.”

Bruce shook his head and returned the sample shoe to its display.  “You dolt.  Come on.”  He hooked his arm into Tony’s, pulling him along towards the greater mall.

“Oh my God...” Tony’s eyes widened in realization as he was dragged along, at least for a few steps until he managed to dig his heels in the ground, “You’re afraid.” An amused grin crept across his face, “You’re scared I’m gonna get you something glow in the dark with spinning rims.” He held a hand to his chest as of wounded, “It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

“Did you mix prescriptions again?  You’re acting crazier than usual.”

Tony stuck out his tongue, blowing a raspberry.  “Prove it, then.  That you’re not afraid,” Tony challenged.

Bruce rolled his eyes.  “If you want to buy me something, you can.  I’m not going to stop you.”  This trip wasn’t about him, despite Tony’s efforts to make it about him.

Tony grinned, relishing in his victory, “Alright then, sit down. I’ll go pick out some shit and bring it back.” He stalked off along the aisles of shoes, before turning around to call back to Bruce, “Wait, what size are you?”

“Ten and a half,” he called back.  He gave a small sigh, looking around briefly before finding a place to sit beside some women chattering as they tried on heels.  He folded an ankle over a knee as he watched Tony dash between the various selections-- it was sort of endearing in a way that he was so obsessed about this.

Tony finally returned, dumping an armful of shoeboxes at Bruce’s feet, but keeping one neatly nestled under his arm, “Get to it.”

“Really narrowed it down, I see.”  He flipped open the lid of the top box and made a face when he pulled the thin paper aside.  “I’m good without.”  He cleared his throat and set the negative off to the side before opening the one underneath it.

“Saved my favorite for last,” Tony said with a sincere smile, patting the box under his arm.

“If it’s your favorite, shouldn’t I look at it now?” Bruce reasoned, admittedly somewhat more curious about it than the rest.  He set a third box aside without trying the contents on.

Tony’s eyes shot to the ground, unsure how to explain his thought process, “Well I figured, if you look at a few others and hate them, you might like this one more by comparison, but...” Realizing how ridiculous he must sound, he relinquished the box.

“That’s not the worst logic I’ve heard from you,” Bruce said.  He turned the box around, giving it a little more consideration than the others thus far.  Sperry was the company.  He popped the lid off.  Inside was a sneaker-style shoe in a muted greyish brown; it was laceless, meant to be slipped on, but had eyelets for show.  He was actually pleasantly surprised.  Bruce set the box to his other side and bent in the middle to pull off the loafers currently on his feet.

“You can pick out a pair for me to buy for myself then,” Tony said, his voice so low Bruce had almost missed it, “I mean, like, I could use a second pair anyways, and we’re already here. And I guess it’s only fair to you.”

“You sure about that?” he asked as he pulled the paper wadding out of the toes of the proposed pair and slipped them on his feet.  “What if I pick something so heinously dorky that your whole fan club disbands overnight?”  He stood up and began to pace back and forth, noticing the insole had a nice cushy springy-ness to it.  “I think I could live with these,” he smiled at his friend. 

“My fanclub may be of questionable intelligence and ethics, but they’re also miserably dedicated.” Tony rolled his eyes, “I doubt I could lose them even if I went on a killing spree.”  He tilted his head to the side, eyeing the new pair on Bruce’s feet, “Glad you like them. You’re at least twenty-five percent more bang-able with those on.” Tony said, trying to sound casual, “Not that you care, I’m sure.” 

“...Bang-able?” Bruce lifted an eyebrow as he sat back down to take them back off and return them to their box.  “I’m pretty sure that one is _not_ in the dictionary.”

“Bang-able. Adjective. 1. Used to describe someone who is worthy of having sex with. 2. The state of being fuckable.”  Smirking, Tony held up his hands, doing finger quotes, “Example: Would you have sex with Bruce if he asked? Yeah, he’s totally bang-able.” 

Earlier in their relationship he might have had to fight the compulsion to blush (it was obvious Tony was trying to embarrass him, especially where they currently were, out in public), but instead he cleared his throat and placed the shoebox into his friend’s hands.  “I’m just going to say ‘thank you’ to that and move on.”

“Well, I suppose I could up the estimate to thirty... maybe thirty-five percent, but that would be being awfully generous...” Tony tapped his lip.

“I hesitate to think how much your evaluation would go up if I let you pick out my entire new wardrobe.”  He wet his lips.  “You’d be unable to resist me...”  The last part came out in a lower pitch than he’d meant.

Tony’s response died of embarrassment in his throat. Stammering, he finally managed to choke out, “I’m quoting a statistic, smartass, not an opinion,” Tony dismissed. _‘Toootally doing both.’_ a voice inside him chirped.

“Okay, then excuse me while I find something to make you twenty-five percent more respectable.  Adjective.  Used to describe someone who is worthy of being given respect,” he rattled off quickly, putting both his hands on Tony’s shoulders.  With a shove, he roughly pushed him down into the chair.  He conveyed a _‘Stay.’_ and then turned to go.

One of the girls beside Tony gave a giggle, putting a hand to the side of her face to whisper to one of her gal-pals.  “He’s right, he totally _is_ bang-able.”

Tony’s eyebrows drew together, feeling slightly bothered by that statement.

“The way they’re acting,” muttered a third, more cynical sounding girl who had been trying on a pair of boots near the girls, “I have a feeling neither of them are ‘bang-able’ without the other’s permission.”

Tony blanched, and would have probably complained about or denied her assumption, if it weren’t so disarming of a thing to hear. He lowered his gaze as he slipped off his shoes, making sure he didn’t leave Bruce waiting for him.

Bruce came back with a single box in his hands.  “Here,” he extended it.

Tony chuckled, taking the box, “Just one, huh?”

“I didn’t see a reason to have you try on half the store,” he folded his arms amusedly.

He popped the top off of the box, revealing a glossy looking pair of square toed dress shoes. He let out a low whistle in appreciation. Bruce had actually picked much better than decent. He shot Bruce a smile, “Not bad. Though that’s coming from the guy who usually wears sneakers with his tux.”  He frowned slightly looking back down from the box to his white cotton socked feet, “But I think I’m wearing the wrong socks for these.”

After contemplating what he should do about this, he shrugged it off and pulled the pair on. He wasn’t supposed to be looking at what clashed anyways. He was surprised to see that they fit him almost perfectly. They may have been a little on the snug side, but they were meant to be worn with dress socks anyways. This brought up an obvious question.

“How the Hell did you know I was a ten and a half?”

Bruce shrugged.  “Spatial observance.  Our feet looked about the same size.”

Tony shook his head in amusement, “You notice everything, don’t you?” He said, hoping he didn’t notice _everything_.

“Well, I notice you’re not complaining.  Like them?”

Tony stood up, feeling them out. Even if he’d hated them, he probably would have bought and worn them if Bruce had asked. Luckily for him this wouldn’t be a sacrifice, because he actually liked the pair.

“Well, it looks like Mr. Substance actually has a sense of style. I _approve_.”

Bruce smiled.  “Good.  So,” he picked up his new shoes, “are we done here?”

“Not so fast!” Tony interrupted, “First off, gimme those.” He gestured to the shoebox Bruce was holding, “I’m paying. And second, I need to see if they have these in red or orange. I can’t wear these babies to school,” he held up the shoes Bruce picked out, “Too special.”

Formal. He’d meant to say formal.

“I feel so underprivileged,” Bruce said sarcastically, relinquishing the box to his friend.

“Cut that out...” Tony hissed, taking the box and stacking so he could carry the two at once when he picked them up again, “I’m doing this for my sake; those loafers were an eyesore. It’s not like I’m some kind of sugar daddy.”  Tony chuckled lightly, as he scanned the shelf he found Bruce’s pair in, locating the color and size he wanted, “That being said, if I was, you’d have put out already.”

Bruce supplied him with a hard shove.  “In your dreams.”

“Every night. Right next to Pepper,” Tony teased, wondering what he’d have to do to shut off the internal polygraph that kept calling his honesty into question. He shook the thought away once again, “Let’s get in line.”

After they’d checked out-- or rather, _Tony_ had checked out-- they made their way to the atrium of the indoor mall.  A quick check of the directory revealed the location of the bookstore, where Bruce intended to do the majority of his Christmas shopping.  He began to lead them towards it, passing the area that had been set up to ‘take a photo with Santa’.  There were lots of children in line, either hanging off their parents’ arms and whining impatiently, or running amok and ducking under the rope barriers, or squabbling at one another as they each tried to cut in line.

“So who am I helping you shop for again?” Tony cut in.

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck; it obviously hadn’t been lost on the other teen that he wouldn’t have been invited along if his input wasn’t desired.  “I was hoping you might have some thoughts about what I could get Betty,” he said as they walked.

Tony stumbled slightly in his stride, but saved it before he’d expected Bruce to notice, “Sure. I can help.”

“I’m sure you’ve bought Pepper things in the past,” Bruce went on, as if to explain his reasoning.

“Well of course I have,” Tony shrugged back. “But girls all have different tastes. Any idea what she likes?”

Bruce coughed into his hand.  “Well, not so much... I mean, six years ago I did.  But they might not be the same...  I’ve only talked to her a few times since the bonfire.”

_‘Five.’_ Tony’s thoughts cut in. _‘Five times since the bonfire. Three of them in person, on weekends where I’d been planning to ask you over.’_

Yes, he had kept track. He cleared his throat absently. It always seemed to get slightly hoarse when Bruce brought up Betty in conversation. He was sure his friend had noticed the effect already. Why else would he have waited until _after_ Tony had shown up at the mall to tell him it was _her_ they were shopping for?

He felt a bitterness well up inside of him, but pushed it down. Betty was a sweet girl. She had been Bruce’s friend first. She wasn’t stealing Bruce from Tony, and he wasn’t going to abandon Tony either. Bruce was a great friend, and Tony was going to help him pick out a gift for another good friend. He was allowed to have more than one. Still, Tony couldn’t help but feel different than how he thought, in spite of how rational said line of thought was.

“Well, we can take a look around,” Tony shrugged hesitantly, “Maybe something’ll speak to you?”

He’d been kind of expecting his friend would be more help than this.  Even if he was right about girls all having different tastes, Tony had to know more about getting gifts for female friends than he did.  “Yeah, I hope so,” he said a little dejectedly.  “I just don’t want to get her something she’s going to hate.”  He lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.  “Maybe I’m over-thinking it.  I just really, _really_ want her to like it, you know?”

Tony felt like he was sabotaging their own friendship by helping Bruce get closer to Betty, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t helping anyway, “Well, what kind of message are you trying to give her with this gift, where are you coming from with it?”

Bruce thought about this.  “‘I’m really glad you’re back in my life’ and ‘I want you to stay’?” he ventured a bit uncertainly.  He sighed.  How could he get something like that across with a gift?

Tony winced internally, the response hitting him like a knife to the chest, and he was twisting it himself with every word he said. He hid behind a confident smile and an even more confident attitude, “If it doesn’t scream perfect for her in some personal way, then it should at least say something about the guy it’s coming from. Something honest.” He paused for a moment, bracing himself for the answer before even asking the question.  “Do you like her?”

Tony swallowed.  It made him nervous to even put the question out there.  If Bruce was in a relationship, then he’d be around even less.  Tony wasn’t sure if he could take that.

Bruce’s eyebrows drew down.  “Of course I like her.”  Obviously he’d been a bit uncertain at first how well they’d mesh after so long (and he’d had to smoke two cigarettes to muster the courage to call her the very first time), but he had found their friendship still had roots and it was slowly blossoming anew.

Tony nodded with a grunt.  There it was.  He tried to respond naturally, going over his suggestions in his head in order to avoid the painful bit of truth he’d been dealt, “Okay first off, unless asked specifically or if she has some sort of obvious obsession with the stuff, _never_ do Bath and Body Works.  That shit’s more impersonal than a gift card.  And a gift card from Bath and Body Works?  Yeah, no.  That’s like saying ‘I don’t know you, but you could probably smell nicer.’ and I’m sure that’s not the kind of impact you’re going for.”

Bruce chuckled softly, mentally logging his friend’s advice.

“She play video games, or have any obvious hobbies or interests?” Tony asked absently as they passed the GameStop.  It was wishful thinking, but it was worth a shot at least.

“Hm...” Bruce put thought to it.  “Well, I know she does Sudoku.  And she quilts.  Oh, she was telling me about this show she was watching on the Discovery Channel.  Recommended I check it out actually; she thought I’d like it,” he laughed a little bit self-consciously.

“Great, we have a lead. You remember the name of the show, by any chance?”

“I think it was When We Left Earth, or something like that.”

Tony nodded, “One of those series about NASA and the space shuttles, right? Hard to keep track with all the documentaries they run, but I bet we could find something.”

Bruce nodded.  He wasn’t sure a DVD box set would get across his deeper sentiments, but he did at least know she would be guaranteed to like it.  And then they could watch the episodes together.  Include Tony too, if he was interested in joining them.

Tony paused, pulling out his smartphone and typing in a keyword web search for JARVIS. There was too much going on in the mall to ask out loud, at least not until he managed to update the background noise filtering settings of its voice recognition software.

“According to search, it’s called ‘When We Left Earth, The NASA Missions’ and it’s in stock on their website. I could order it now and have you pay me back, and have it here before Christmas.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Bruce agreed with a smile.  “Thanks.”

Tony sighed with a little relief. At least he’d made Bruce smile, though it probably wasn’t for him. “You getting her a card, or is that overkill?”

“Well, what do you think?” he asked, leaving it to his best friend’s judgment.

Tony pondered for a moment before responding, “Well the greeting card store is a horrible place for people who second guess their decisions a lot. Though if you can find a Christmas card in there that’s blank or only has like, one generic line and lots of blank space, go for it. You’ll have a better time writing in your own message than finding one that you agree with and that suits the person you’re giving it to. At least not before the mall closes today.”

Bruce laughed again, finding his spirits lifting.  “Then we’ll hit Hallmark and Barnes and Noble,” he planned out, lifting his hand to check the time on his wrist-- they had plenty.  Definitely one good thing about finals week, early dismissal.  It almost made up for all the stress involved.  “What about you?  Anywhere you want to go?” he asked his friend.

Tony smiled back, glad Bruce’s attention was back on him, however selfish it sounded, “Well how’s about we crash at Barnes and Noble for a bit, pre-read some books and get something at the cafe? My treat?”

That sounded like the best proposition Bruce had heard in weeks.  Well aside from Thanksgiving when they'd had both Tony and his father over for turkey dinner.  It showed in the big smile that overtook his face, even if his response understated it.  “I’d like that.”

Tony smirked back. “And once our food’s settled, we’re off to the arcade to break these shoes in,” he grinned holding the bag of shoes up with one hand.

“You’re going to DDR in dress shoes?” he inquired skeptically.

“Hell no. I really liked that pair I picked out for you, so I got one for myself in a different color,” Tony said, adding three rapid snaps of his fingers, “Pay attention, big guy.”

\--

Both boys entered the cafe/wi-fi area with bags on their arms.  Bruce was quite pleased to have found both a new cookbook for his mother (out of which he was certain she and he would be trying out several of the recipes over the next year), as well as a book by Friedrich Nietzsche for his father (of the few things the man enjoyed, philosophy was a more prominent one).

Tony was currently nose-deep in a graphic novel. He wasn’t sure which one really, because he’d just grabbed the first one that had an interesting cover. There wasn’t much action involved, and it seemed to be revolving mainly around the search for the origin of a sentient female android capable of feeling real emotions (and apparently flipping shit on an epic scale anytime someone tries to get fresh with her), and an awkward budding romance between her and a porn hoarder with a heart of gold. Or at least that’s what Tony gathered. 

_‘Leave it to Japan.’_ Tony thought with a chuckle, checking the title, and deciding to pick up the box set before he left, _‘Chobits, hm? Well fine, you sold me.’_

Tony appeared to have no interest in shopping, and in fact seemed happy to just relax and go with the flow for the entire afternoon. This was far from the case, however. He hadn’t told Bruce, but he’d actually snuck a few purchases in during his last ‘bathroom break’ and had them tucked away neatly in one of his shoe boxes. This year he was breaking his own self-imposed no gift card rule on Brian and Rebecca Banner. The former getting a fifty dollar Exxon gas card, the latter a fifty dollar Sephora gift card. It seemed like a lot for only meeting the two a few months ago, but Tony liked to make a big impression, and frankly he was trying his best to hold back. As far as his father went, he’d probably just ask him point blank. Knowing him, he probably wanted spoilers worse than Tony did. And there’s no easier spoiler than to be asked what you want for Christmas when you’re only a few weeks away.

Bruce eyed the menu over the counter as the two of them stepped up to the end of the line.  The staff were working quickly and efficiently to serve the holiday traffic, so it moved pretty quickly.  Bruce gave his friend a little nudge on the arm with his elbow to bring him temporarily back to reality-- it must have been a good read.  “We’re about to be next.”

Tony shook a little, startled out of his read, “Oh, yeah sure, cool.” He waited until the people in front had moved away from the register, before placing his order, “Strawberry smoothie. Large. Or Grande, or whatever the bigger one is. And one of those brownies,” Tony pointed. “Thanks.” He motioned for Bruce to place his order, and flashed his cash to indicate that he was paying for both of them.

“Peppermint Mocha with a little extra cinnamon sprinkled on top?” Bruce smiled at the barista.

“Peppermint mocha _and_ extra cinnamon? I don’t know why, but I pegged you as a no frills type of guy.”

“Shut up,” he hit him a little harder with his elbow this time.  “It’s Christmastime,” he justified; he could pamper himself a little.

“Whatever,” Tony rolled his eyes, sliding a twenty dollar bill across the counter and walking away without asking for change, “Strawberry smoothies don’t _need_ a holiday to seem like a good idea.”

Once they had their drinks in hand, they searched for a place to sit.  There was an area with a coffee table, two easy chairs and a loveseat, but both the easy chairs were occupied.  “How’s this?” Bruce asked his friend as he set down his purchases and styrofoam cup on the table.

Tony shrugged, sipping his smoothie absently, “This works.” He flopped down in the loveseat, making sure to leave some space for Bruce.  The other teen removed his heavy coat and settled in comfortably beside him, cracking open John Scalzi’s ‘Redshirts’.  He flipped past the index and dedication to find chapter one.

Before he could get started, curiosity got the best of him.  “So what did you find?” Bruce asked, noticing the boy was flipping the pages... backwards.  He knew Tony was a little odd at times, but that seemed odder than usual.  The manga section was an area of the bookstore he knew _of_ but had never indulged in personally, though he knew the foreign graphic novels were popular among his peers.

“It’s called Chobits,” Tony sounded out, knowing he’d more than likely fumbled the pronunciation, “Looks like it’s about this sad sack of a guy living in a semi-futuristic world where pretty much everyone has their own personal android-esque servant called a persocom. He’s dirt poor, so he can’t afford one...”

“You don’t have to give away the whole plot,” Bruce chuckled, pushing up his glasses before taking a careful sip of his warm beverage.

“Dude, this is just what I’ve read so far in _this_ book. I haven’t even figured out where the girl on the cover comes into this whole mess.”  He’d actually skipped to the middle of the book and then skipped back to the beginning when he’d gotten interested. It was a bad habit of his, but he figured if nothing was happening by the middle of the book, he’d be saving himself a bad read.

Tony sounded really excited.  “You’re adorable,” Bruce said truthfully but with a little roll of his eyes.  He took another sip and immersed himself in his own selection, leaving his friend to his.

“Uh, thanks?” Tony answered self consciously, burying himself deeper into the pages of his manga.  Sure, he’d said as much to Bruce earlier through text, but somehow that seemed different than saying so in person, right here to his face.  He nibbled his brownie absently, trying not to drop too many crumbs on the front of his hoodie.

They read silently together for the next hour, continuing well after they’d both finished and set aside their empty drink cups.  Tony was very nearly to the end of the second in the series, and he’d snuggled himself comfortably into Bruce’s exposed side when his friend had set his arm across the back of the loveseat.  Outwardly, it probably looked more intimate than it was, but Tony couldn’t be assed to care; if possible, he probably would’ve opted to stay there until closing.

With a small sigh he shut his completed manga.  He glanced at Bruce.  Every once and a while the big guy would chuckle softly and turn a page-- currently he looked pretty absorbed by the satirical sci-fi.  Tony didn’t want to disturb or interrupt him in the middle of a chapter, so he just sat quietly, listening to the Christmas music playing in the bookstore.  Winter Wonderland had always been a favorite of Tony’s, ever since the first Christmas in his conscious memory. As well-off as his family had been by the time he’d come along, their Christmases had always been relatively normal up until his mom had passed.  He closed his eyes and he could feel it; the air in the living room resonating with the sounds of Christmas carols on repeat, as he and his parents strung lights and ornaments on the tree.  Without even realizing it, he began to hum along, lips slowly parting to quietly sing along under his breath.

The melody permeated Bruce’s brain gradually, realizing it wasn’t coming just from the speakers overhead but also the boy beside him.  Without lowering his book, he joined along to see if Tony would notice, “To face unafraid, the plans that we’ve made, walking in a winter wonderland...”

Tony smirked to himself, but didn’t stop, continuing to sing along at a low enough level to keep them from getting kicked out, though he considered phasing into the harmony just to fuck with Bruce. Though when the second chorus came up, he couldn’t help but change a few things.

“In the meadow we can build two snowmen,  
And pretend that you are Parson Brown,  
I’ll ask ‘Can you marry?’, they’ll say ‘No, man;  
That Jesus freak would run us out of town’...”

Bruce snorted at the modification.  “Mrs. Weller teach you and your classmates that one too?”

Tony chuckled. “Poor Mrs. Weller. I think it was worse back then. Sure the jokes were less offensive, but there were so many of us little bastards,” he commented, then shuddered the way one would after staring too long at an anthill, “Remind me to never, ever become a teacher.”

“I’ll do that.  But more for the kids’ sake than yours,” Bruce backhanded with a smirk.  Tony would teach them how to fold paper airplanes and make spit balls or vandalize desks and hack school computers.  Extracurricular Entropy.  Utter-Chaos Theory.  He could probably think of a few more course names but he stopped, propping his head on an amused elbow as he continued to scan the page.

“Mrs. Weller said it was rewarding.” Tony scoffed, “Rewarding my ass; do you see how many times those people go on strike?” He snorted, “Yeah, no thanks.”

“Satisfaction can come from a lot more than spending cash,” Bruce said, though he knew his friend was well-aware of it.  He got to the end of the page and flipped it.  “I think it’s the ‘opportunity to influence and make a positive impact on the lives of’, in our case, ‘young adults’ that’s the draw.”  He shrugged.  He couldn’t say it was an occupation that much interested him either.

“Hmmm...” Tony seemed to ponder the point for a little while, before holding up his finger to point at Bruce, “No. And a no for you too. You’d end up wiping the blackboard with a freshman’s face and getting seventy-five million hits on YouTube. I know because I’ll have run in to film it from the classroom across the hall.”

“If he acted anything like you during class, I’d hypothesize he deserved it,” Bruce returned, finding the scenario amusing if distracting.

“Hear! Hear! There can only be one!” Tony pounded his chest, “The child must be taught a lesson.”

Bruce lifted an eyebrow at his friend’s phrasing.  “You have been hanging around Theodore too much.”

“You’re telling me he hasn’t grown on you?” Tony raised an eyebrow, “Either way, that little bastard freshman should just be glad he isn’t in my classroom, because I wouldn’t have stood for his shit from the get-go. He would’ve been sitting out on all the good stuff. Especially the Potassium Chloride Gummy Bear experiment.”

“Harsh,” Bruce commented.

“Don’t judge me,” Tony waggled a scolding finger in response, “Because if I ever get into teaching it’ll be your fault. I won’t be able to work anywhere else. I’ll need to be there to lie to the police and plant the drugs on the witnesses when you finally snap.  You know I’d be a chemistry teacher. Haven’t you ever seen Breaking Bad?”

Bruce just shook his head and gave up, closing his book.  Tony was an unstoppable chatterbox at times and he wasn’t getting any more read at this rate.  He glanced at the quarter of a brownie sitting on its paper napkin on the coffee table and got an idea, reaching forward for it.

“That’s my brownie,” Tony noted with a raise of his eyebrow, “I don’t recall granting you access.”

Bruce gave him a look and proceeded to follow through, lifting the morsel to head-level.

Tony leaned away slightly, “What are y--” he didn’t quite get through with that sentence before his friend had shoved the entire rest of the square into his mouth, effectively muffling him.

“That is _so_ much better,” Bruce said, rubbing his fingers against his thumb to rid them of the crumbs, “I bet the entire bookstore is thanking me.”

In his peripheral vision he could see Tony signing “Fuck you too.” while simultaneously trying to chew his way through and swallow a too-large-mouthful of brownie, but it only made his grin wider.


	15. Chapter 15

Tony nursed the remainder of his second smoothie (he’d needed another to wash down that freaking brownie) as they walked out of the mall that evening.  This one was blueberry.  “Too bad it’s a school night,” he rolled his eyes (as if that mattered to him); he stuffed a folded ten dollar bill into the Salvation Army collection bucket as they went by.  “We’ll have to swing by and do Dance Dance sometime this weekend.  Saturday?”

Bruce hummed.  “I should be free.”  His brow drew down in thought immediately after saying it.  “No,” he amended, “There’s a deadline for a scholarship I’ve been meaning to apply to the following Monday.”  He’d barely even gotten it started and now that they were into finals week, he couldn’t afford to expend much of his concentration elsewhere until exams were through.

“Then what about Sunday?” Tony asked quizzically.  He tucked his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, eying his friend through the dim illumination the parking lot lamps provided.

Bruce shook his head.  “Betty invited me to her bookclub that meets on Sundays at the library.”  And lunch after technically.  And whatever else they just decided to do on the spot.  He paused.  “I could ask her if it’d be alright for you to come.”  He knew discussing literature was hardly Tony Stark-level entertainment the way DDR was, but he figured he’d put the offer forward.

Tony waved a hand dismissively, “And mess up your date?  Please.  Only reason she didn’t try to put the moves on me at the bonfire is because she was all excited to meet you again.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how ‘being the third wheel’ works,” Bruce said with slight amusement at his friend’s boast, stopping where he’d parked his moped.  He bent over to secure his purchases from the bookstore and card shop to the outside of the bike.

“Oh and hey, text me when you get out.  Maybe we can still find something to do.”  Tony said, ignoring the third wheel comment as he scratched the back of his head, “Or we could just talk.  Talking works too.”  Right now he’d be willing to settle for just about anything, just _something_ he could look forward to doing with his best friend.

“Yeah, I’ll keep you posted,” Bruce smiled, buckling his helmet to his head before pulling his gloves back on over his hands.  “I don’t see any reason why we couldn’t talk at least.”

Tony nodded, but didn’t smile.  Thinking for a moment, he held out the last of his smoothie in Bruce’s direction.  “You’ve been smacking your lips for the past ten minutes, and if I drink any more of this, my tongue will look like I went down on Smurfette.  Take the rest.  And don’t feel bothered to ask next time you’re thirsty.”

“I wasn’t--” Bruce started, but by then the teen had already shoved the drink into his hand.  “Uh, thanks.  You want a lift?” he offered, inclining his head indicatively as he took a long draw from the straw.  He could at least save Tony a cold walk across the gigantic lot in exchange.

Tony raised his eyebrow questioningly, before remembering he’d parked out back, “Oh right. Sure.”

Bruce mounted the conveyance, and Tony clambered on behind him.  It had been a long time since they’d been in this configuration... not since he’d found Tony drunk at the levee.  Thank God that had stopped.  He was actually pretty proud of his friend for cleaning up his act.  Tony hadn’t been shit-faced _once_ since making his promise-- Howard had been sending him updates on the days when he and Tony weren’t able to hang out.  It was pretty obvious to Bruce that Tony’s father was surprised by this turn-around in behavior.  So that made for two of them who were quite proud.

However, the feeling that rushed through him when Tony pressed against him and wrapped his arms around his middle was more than mere nostalgia.  In fact, it couldn’t be described as anything other than excitement.  His heart quickened in his chest, pupils instinctually dilating.  He gripped the handlebars with a tightness comparable to that of the grip he’d had on Tony’s shoulders towards the end of his wet dream.

It might’ve been only forty degrees outside, but Bruce felt plenty warm.

He kicked off from the curb and headed down one of the rows.  Tony directed him.  The parking lot had thinned out some from earlier in the day, though plenty of people were taking advantage of the extended holiday hours.  It wasn’t hard to pick out his best friend’s mustang from the rest of the minivans, compact cars and SUVs.  He let off the throttle, easing to a stop behind it.

Tony had been experiencing a similar nostalgia, clutching onto Bruce the way he had that night in September. It brought back some of the old memories, and filled in a few missing ones. He’d remembered being soaked to the bone, and Bruce being warm. He remembered the hesitation he felt when he’d been dropped off, and just how badly he’d wanted Bruce to stay.  He didn’t even want to let go now.

God, was he clingy.  Tony slipped off the back of the bike.

Bruce was about to head out, but hesitated.  “Hey Tony?” he spoke up.

The other turned in place.  “Yeah?  What’s up, big guy?”

Bruce pushed his glasses up self-consciously.  He wasn’t sure why he’d gotten his friend’s attention one last time; he didn’t even know what he’d had in mind to say when he did it, and now there was just an awkward stretching silence as they stared across the gap at one another.  Bruce cleared his throat.  “Thanks again for the shoes,” he said.

It only took a second for a knowing smile to spread across Tony’s features.  He breached the gap between them with a few long strides, enveloping the man in a rough hug, “I’m glad I came along too, big guy.”

Bruce chuckled, wondering if he’d been that transparent, but he decided not to over-think it, hugging his friend back with earnest and really savoring it.  He clapped him on the back twice and let go before the moment could become awkward in a different way.  “I’m glad you could make it,” he revised.  “You were a big help.”

“Yeah, no problem at all!” Tony smiled, though his eyes were a little downcast. The two of them were getting together less outside of school already.  If he and Betty started up a relationship...

No.  Tony wasn’t going to allow his selfishness to get in the way of what Bruce wanted.  Bruce had already done so much for him.  And yet now, as his eyes raised to meet the smile Bruce was flashing, Tony was tempted to kiss those lips and see if they were as soft as they’d been in his dreams.  He needed to stop thinking about it, but nothing he’d tried so far was working.  He was too close to Bruce right now, he realized.  He was suffocating.  He wanted to step back, but he felt frozen in place by the eye contact.  If he broke away, Bruce would know something was wrong.  If he didn’t stop staring, Bruce would figure him out, if Tony didn’t do something stupid first.  He needed to say something to break the silence.  He needed to back away before he ran out of reasonable options, before taking this night as far as his traitorous hormones were willing to started _sounding_ like a reasonable option.

The corners of Bruce’s lips drew down; Tony was trembling somewhat, and it didn’t seem like it was from the cold.  His eyes had a far-away look in them, like he had something in mind to say but wasn’t saying it.  Bruce kicked the stand down and got off his moped so he could set his hand down on his friend’s shoulder.  “Hey, you okay?” he asked with concern.

Tony jumped at the touch, stepping back so that Bruce’s hand slipped off his person.  He didn’t look up from the asphalt of the parking lot.  “I’m fine.  Just a little tired...” he punctuated with a short laugh, and winced when it sounded fake, even to him.

Bruce shook his head.  Typical that Tony was covering up.  That was his standard operating procedure.  Followed, of course, by copious amounts of alcohol.  And though the latter hadn’t been in the equation recently, Bruce was still worried.  “Something has been bothering you all day.  Come on, what is it?”

Tony, for once, didn’t say anything.  He was too wary of talking himself into circles or digging a hole he couldn’t get out of.  He scoured his mind for a lie that could get him safely out of this.  Then he could banish the worry from Bruce’s mind and be left to grow out of this in his own time.  His search turned up lemons.

“I... I should go.  You’ve got stuff to take care of.”

“I’ve got an obligation to my friend as well,” Bruce said firmly.  “To listen to what he has to say.  I told you we can talk whenever, about whatever, remember?”

“I can’t...” Tony choked out, finally managing to meet Bruce’s gaze.  He’d decided to be honest.  There wasn’t anything else he could say that Bruce wouldn’t see through, “I appreciate it, really, but... I can’t.  Trust me; it’s not that big of a deal.”

Bruce sighed at his friend’s obstinancy, but he couldn’t force Tony to talk if he didn’t want to. “Well just promise me one thing--” he started to say, before his phone began to chime away, causing him to pause his words and lift an eyebrow.  He dug into his pocket.  It was Betty.  He hesitated, staring down at his cell ringing in his hand-- he wanted to finish up this conversation with Tony, but Betty was calling him now.  Maybe he should have her call him back...

“I’m fine; don’t make her wait,” Tony managed to sound calm when he responded.  He knew that ringtone as well as he knew his own.

Bruce still wasn’t sure, but at his friend’s urging, he hit ‘answer’ and put it to his ear.  “Hey Betty.  Hey, I can't talk long, I was just on my way back home," he prefaced, glancing at Tony once before looking back down at the ground and beginning to pace.  “Oh, I was just hanging with Tony.  Just the mall.  Yeah.  Hm?  Yeah.  No, I’ll still be there.  Yeah, I’ll have time for lunch after.”

Tony glanced around nervously.  “Yeah, I gotta go,” he said as he turned towards his car.

“Sorry, Betty, just a sec,” Bruce pulled the phone from his ear and covered it with a hand.  “Tony,” he sought his attention before he could get away.

Tony stopped and turned around, “I told you I can’t right now.” _‘Or ever.’_

"No,” Bruce corrected, a little flustered.  “Not that.  Just... take care of yourself, alright?" he imparted.  "I'll see you tomorrow."

“Yeah,” Tony nodded.

He hoped Tony had gotten the message.  Bruce lifted his cell again, returning to his phone conversation.  “Still there?” he asked into the mic.  “Don’t worry about it; it’s fine.”

Once Tony was sure he was out of Bruce’s field of vision, he opened the glove box hesitantly, pulling out a fake ID and twirling it around in his hands.  In his heightened level of stress, he was struggling not to succumb to the urge to stop at the nearest liquor store. 

_‘Even if he doesn’t catch you, you’ll know you did it.’_  Gritting his teeth, he tossed the card back into the glovebox and slammed it shut with a huff.  He put the car into reverse and pulled out, shifting back into first.  He made sure to give Bruce the obligatory honk of the horn as he began his journey back home.

\--

Tony needed to talk to someone, and he found he couldn’t wait until he got home.  Putting the top up, he had JARVIS dial Pepper’s number by the time he’d reached the second stoplight.

The girl was at home, lying on her front on her bed with her books and notes in front of her when she heard her phone start to go off.  An eyebrow lifted on her head.  Oh, those boys had better not be pranking during finals week.   _They_ might both be super-geniuses, but _she_ actually needed to study for tomorrow.  She had half a mind not to pick up, but she knew her curiosity would never forgive her if she didn’t.  She answered not with the typical ‘hello’.  “Well, you sure seem to be calling me a lot lately.”

“It’s not for rebound, I swear; but I can call back later if you want,” Tony responded, attempting to sound aloof, and probably failing.

Pepper’s eyes rolled.  She looked over at her alarm clock which was displaying the time.  She could probably use a break anyhow.  “You wouldn’t have called if you didn’t want to talk,” she said matter-of-factly, then took it back sarcastically, “Well, unless it’s about how to give another sexual favor.”

Tony sighed, “It’s not.  I just wanted to talk.  I need your advice.”

“Oh, _here_ we go...!”

“Am I a horrible person?” Tony cut in, tired of asking himself, and desperate for a second opinion, “Really, am I?”

“What?” Pepper asked, confused.  “Horrible?  No.”  The girl frowned to herself.  It was a rare thing when her ex stepped down from his high-horse and admitted he wasn’t ‘all that’ occasionally, but to swing to the other side and trash-talk himself was practically unheard of.  And it concerned her.

“I know I’m not the most selfless guy in the world but...”  He swallowed, “But I mean, since the bonfire--” _‘Since long before the bonfire, buddy.’_  Tony paused to collect his thoughts before speaking again, “Bruce probably told you about Betty, right?”

Pepper spent a moment in thought, trying to figure out what that had to do with Tony thinking he was horrible.  “Well, yes, of course.  I mean, it’s been years since they even last saw each other...”  Well, that’s what he had told her anyway.  It had been really cute, in her opinion, how nervous he was at first to call her back after getting her number; Bruce asked Pepper what to possibly expect, things he should or shouldn’t say, though of course her advice had been to ‘just be himself’.  If it was meant to be, that would be enough.

“I know.  I was the one who re-introduced them at the bonfire.  Which was a total emo disaster, by the way, because I didn’t give him a heads-up.  Then I went and got my ass beaten in the parking lot and made him snap,” Tony spat, obviously still blaming himself in part for the effect the incident had on Bruce.

Her eyes widened in recollection of the event.  “I’d heard he was known for doing that before, but I’d never actually seen it in person until then,” Pepper said in barely more than a whisper.  He’d clobbered Justin and his goons, some were still in casts.  One thing was for sure, she was glad she was on his good side.

“If I’d covered my own ass instead of running in blind like a dumbfuck, then most of the school would’ve never had to.”

Some of the pieces were starting to come together.  Or at least, she thought they were.  Pepper’s voice became sweeter, reassuring.  “Tony, you’re not horrible because that happened.  I’m sure if you ask Bruce, he’ll even tell you it’s no big deal.”  She muttered to herself, “It’s not like he’s ever had the greatest reputation.”

“Fuck reputations.  It’s not about that!” Tony shot back, pausing to calm down again.

Her eyebrows clinched in the middle.  “Then what _is_ it about?”  God, her ex could be _so_ dramatic.

“I don’t know what’s worse, not meaning any harm and causing it anyway, or... just thinking harmfully and trying not to act on it.”

The broad generalizations made it impossible to parse.  “Tony, you’re not making any sense,” Pepper pointed out.  She shook her head, flipping a couple pages of the notebook in front of her.

“I’m trying, dammit!” Tony shouted back in frustration, “Believe it or not, I don’t just call up everyone to talk about my issues; so sorry, I don’t have a fucking speech prepared!”

“Don’t get sassy with me,” Pepper’s eyes narrowed warningly.

“If I could talk to Bruce about this, I would.  It’s hard enough to word on its own without someone trying to rush me along.”  Tony sighed, “I’m sorry, I’m just really wound up.”

She sighed as well.  “It’s okay.  Just take a few deep breaths.”  Pepper pursed her lips, softening before adding, “I’m here for you.”  Always had been, always would be.

Tony nodded, doing as she suggested.  Once he’d calmed down enough, he attempted to rephrase his earlier statement.

“Before I was trying to do something nice for him, bringing Betty into the picture, but it ended up hurting him.  Now I’m kind of wishing she wasn’t here.  I don’t get to see Bruce that much anymore.  And now I think they might be dating, and you know that they’re gonna be around each other all the time doing couple stuff...”  Tony sighed long and deep, “I just want her to go away so I can have my friend back.”

Pepper felt a mix of emotions for her ex.  Yes, she could definitely see why the situation would be upsetting him.  She tried to organize her thoughts as Tony went on.

“...And I feel like a selfish asshole, because we just hung out today.  But it was to get a Christmas present for _her_ and I know she’s a really nice girl.  And Bruce is finally in a state of mind where he can have friends again, so why shouldn’t he try again with Betty?  But--”

“Tony, you trust Bruce, don’t you?” Pepper interjected suddenly.

There was silence on Tony’s side as he pondered his answer.  “Of course I trust him,” he said eventually.   _‘It’s me who shouldn’t be trusted.’_

“Then trust _me_ when I tell you that no matter how close he and Betty get, he’ll always make time for you.  You’ll always have a special place in his heart.”

Tony sighed sadly, “Yeah.”  It was at that moment he realized there was a factor Pepper hadn’t considered, because she didn’t know it existed.  It wasn’t that simple.  He couldn’t be completely honest with Bruce either, because telling the whole truth would mean sharing the worst secret of all.

“I know you may not believe me, but it’s true,” she said.  “You should invite him over.  And not just to play games or run around naked or whatever it is you do.  I mean something more _meaningful_.  Something important to you.  He’ll pick up on it.”

Tony’s thoughts went back to that moment in Barnes and Noble, where he’d been deep in reminiscence over trimming the tree with his parents.  “I guess I could ask him over to help string the lights up on the tree...” he muttered.

Pepper’s lips drew into a smile, imagining what a lovely time that would be.  First assembling the tree, adding lights, then probably ornaments, maybe some Christmas music playing softly over the sound system.  She could picture the two of them sitting by the crackling fireplace, sipping hot cocoa with marshmallows on top, wrapped up in a quilted blanket together.  “That sounds like a really sweet idea, Tony.”

“We’re just friends, Pep.  You’re making it weird,” Tony narrowed his eyes.

“Sorry,” she apologized, shaking her head somewhat when she realized she’d been imagining herself in Bruce’s place.

“Relax, I’m just giving you shit.”  Tony snorted, “But thanks, that’s actually a big help.”

She recovered swiftly.  “Absolutely.  You know I couldn’t stand being one of those vengeful exes whose only remaining aim in life is to make their ex’s life a living Hell,” Pepper delivered with a smirk.

Tony shrugged, “You could be if you applied yourself.”  It was true; Tony’d never seen her give less than a hundred percent in anything, ”Personally, I think it’s just because you’re hot when you’re angry.  After a few fights, it’d be hard for us to _stay_ exes.”

She tittered a laugh; Tony was feeling better already.

“Thanks, Pep.  I feel a lot better.  I can let you go now if you want,” Tony said with genuine appreciation.

Her head tipped to the side, kind of enjoying the sound of Tony’s voice through the phone; she found she no longer wanted to hang up.  That was silly though, and she knew it.  “Yeah, I should probably get back to studying...” she said melancholic, but immediately she transitioned back into snark, “I won’t ask why _you_ aren’t doing the same thing.”

“Well firstly, I’m in the ‘stang on my way home.  Second, thanks for not asking,” Tony responded as he blew a raspberry in the general direction of the console.  Speakerphone would pick it up.

“You’re welcome.”

“Oh wait!” Tony called out before she could hang up.  “Uh, about you and Happy... are you okay?” Tony licked his lips nervously.  He needed to tread these waters carefully, “He didn’t cheat on you or anything, did he?”

Pepper felt her whole body clench.  “No no... no.  Oh my gosh... what a disaster...” she put her hand to her head.  “Tony, he _proposed_ to me.  Right on the field!!”

“That _bastard_ ,” Tony responded sarcastically.  “I take it I don’t need to pick out a tux just yet?”

If it weren’t a phone conversation, she would have given him a slap.  “You know I’m not ready for a commitment that big.”  She shook her head again.  “ _He_ should’ve known I’m not ready.  I don’t know what he was thinking!”

“So you broke up with him?  Call me crazy, but a ‘No’ probably would’ve gotten the message across...”

“Well of course I said ‘No’,” Pepper said, somewhat flustered.  “We’re just... taking a break is all.”

“The Hell would he propose for though?  You’re juniors.  He didn’t... “ Tony paused, turning white, “Oh God, tell me you’re not pr--”

“OH MY GOD, TONY!” Pepper exclaimed shrilly.  “Of course I’m not!  I can’t believe you!!”

“Okay, okay, geez!” Tony groaned.  So much for appreciating the concern.  “Could’ve fooled me with a mood swing like that, though.”  All joking aside, he felt a little bad for poor Happy.  He really must’ve loved her, “So is the team gonna call him Grumpy now?”

Her temper flared.  “You’re such a-- ARG!”  And with that, she hung up.

\--

_‘I’m sorry I made you mad, but I think you’re lucky someone loves you that much.  Thanks for your help.  I’ll forgive you for hanging up, even though you do it all the time anyways.  Love you Colon Close Parenthesis XOXO Tony.’_

Smiling warmly, knowing already that she’d forgive him for that, he called on JARVIS once more,

“JARVIS, text Bruce.”

“I am ready, sir.”

Tony opened his mouth to speak, absently noticing that he was almost home.  He lived closer to the mall than Bruce, so he’d probably get his text on the road.  Well, once he got home he’d have time to get comfortable before he’d have to respond again.

\--

His and Betty’s conversation didn’t last too much longer after Tony had driven off, and he’d successfully convinced himself that his friend had been telling the truth that it was no big deal after all and Tony was just being moody.  Plus, it helped that Betty’s parting words had been an exuberant _‘I can’t wait for Sunday!’_ a sentiment he wholly shared.  Come Sunday, he’d finally be on Winter break-- three weeks he could spend _not_ studying, _not_ writing essays, _not_ shuffling from class to class, and could instead lounge away with Tony.  Or Betty.  Or maybe both if they all three could agree on a time and place.  Pepper could even come along and they could make it a foursome outing!  Bruce chuckled at his own train of thought.

_‘This is what it’s like to have friends...’_ he realized with no small amount of disbelief.  This was what people his age did.

He turned onto his street and clicked the garage door opener.  With a little puttering rev, he propelled the moped up the slanted driveway and idled it in beside his mother’s old Civic.  Technically it was only a two-car garage, but clever angling allowed him to get it in so it wouldn’t be stuck out in the elements.  He grabbed his shopping bags, brought down the garage door, and headed inside.

“...I’m sure we could spare a little--”

The ear-splitting sound of glass shattering echoed through the household.  “Are you _implying_ I can’t provide for this family?!”

Bruce froze in the entryway, stock-still.

His mother’s voice followed, apologetic and supplicant.  “No, not at all, I just thought--”

“Perhaps you should go plead your case with that Howard Stark, since he seems so _fond_ of you,” Brian’s voice was bitter and accusing.  “If you ask ‘really nice’, perhaps he will just _give_ our son a new car.”

Bruce set down his bags and crept over to the far end of the room, pushing himself up against the wall to listen at a closer distance while still maintaining his cover.  Why the Hell had Tony’s dad been drug into this?  Was it because of that ‘reward’ Howard mentioned the night he’d dropped him off?  Or had something been said at Thanksgiving that Bruce had missed?

“Howard’s concerns are for the welfare of _our_ children,” his mother said, defending the other man.  Not one of the wisest choices, under the circumstances, Bruce thought with a frown.

“Are you suggesting I am not concerned about our son??”

“N-no.  That’s not what I mean,” she began to correct.

“Then what _do_ you mean, Rebecca?” the man demanded.

There was a long pause.  Bruce held his breath, waiting for her answer.  “I just thought it would be nice if Bruce didn’t have to drive around out in the cold during the winter.”  Her voice was trembling, and it tied his stomach up in knots.  It always felt, to him anyways, that the arguments about him were the worst... they made him feel reprehensible.  Because if he weren’t there, there would be no arguments to be had about him, these kinds of confrontations wouldn’t be had.  Maybe his mother and father would get along more often.  Rebecca went on, “I get so worried everytime he goes out that he’ll catch a cold or... or something worse...”

“He’s been fine the past _two years_ riding around on that bike.  I will _not_ be frittering away the hard-earned money that comes into this household on _needless_ expenditures.”  The statement was firm and unquestionable.  For the record, Bruce did agree with his father on this one... a car was a luxury, not a necessity, and if there were more important things his father’s paycheck should go towards, Bruce would willingly make the sacrifice in comfort.  He didn’t, however, see a reason to belittle his mother or twist her words to make her feel bad for making the suggestion.

Bruce could hear her softly crying now; he balled his hands into fists.  “But Brian, he’s been so good.  Doesn’t he deserve just a _little_ something...?”

“Rebecca,” the man spoke her name and it silenced her into listening with a meek ‘yes?’.  “You are proposing no ‘little’ expense.  There’s added insurance and gasoline, on top of purchase price.  Now, if you were able to cover the additional costs...”

“But I don’t have--” she started to say.  Bruce winced; she walked right into it.

“No, you do _not_ ,” Brian confirmed scornfully, slamming his fist down on something nearby.  “ _I_ make the money, which means _I_ make the rules!”  He cleared his throat, but it still sounded like his father was speaking through grit teeth.  “If either you or Bruce acquires a job, we can re-discuss this matter at a later date, but until such a time, it is _settled_.”

“Y-yes, dear...” Rebecca agreed shakily.

And that _should_ have been the end like the man had said.  A loud slap on skin and a resulting cry made Bruce’s lower eyelid twitch.

“Now clean up this mess, you worthless woman!” Brian spat.  “You’re about as much good as _my_ mother, always sniveling about like everyone owed her something.  Never lifted a finger and yet she expected to have her every whim taken care of.  You make me sick--”

Bruce had heard enough.  This was no longer a discussion, or even an argument.  It had crossed the line into abuse.  He stepped out from around the corner.  His mother was crouched down, picking glass shards up from the floor, while his father’s back was turned to the both of them.  He had his decanter of whiskey from his study upstairs with him, and it was fairly obvious from the low level inside it that he had been hitting it hard that night.  His mom sure had picked a great night to bring things up, Bruce thought with a rueful sarcasm.  She had never quite seemed to learn when to approach and when not to approach her husband.

“Oh, Bruce... sweetie... y-you’re home,” Rebecca hurriedly made to stand when she saw him.  The hand she was holding the glass fragments in snapped behind her back, as if it to hide the evidence of what had just been going on.  With the other hand, she moved some of the hair caught behind her ear to let it drape loosely over the side of her face that had been struck.  Though even through the dark brown strands he could see the red welling to the surface of her skin underneath.

Still pretending to hide it after all these years.  He knew she knew he knew about it; it was just an automatic response for her... like the way one would cover their mouth before sneezing.

Brian turned to glare threateningly at him.  “Bruce, go to your room.”  It was an old command, one that used to send him scurrying for his closet to hide behind his clothing hanging from the lower rack in the dark.  Once Betty had had to hide with him...

Needless to say, it didn’t have the same affect on him anymore.  The teen stood his ground.  Logic would be the only way to win this one.  Leave nothing for his father to ‘assert his authority’ upon.  “It’s seven o’clock.  Shouldn’t Mom and I be making dinner?” he stated.

The man glowered at him, grip tightening into a whitened fist around the neck of the decanter, but gradually it loosened.  “You’re right.  She should.”  The answer stuck out like a sore thumb-- it wasn’t much of a secret that his father didn’t think much of his son helping out with domestic chores, like cooking and the dishes and laundry.  Had he been born female, or if he had a sister, Bruce was quite sure his father’s expectations would be much different.  It was unfair, but it was as it was.

Rebecca moved towards the kitchen wordlessly.

“There won’t be a need to cook anything for me,” Brian continued tersely as he poured a conservative amount of whiskey (well, it would have been conservative, had it been his first) into one of his three remaining tumbler glasses.   _‘Should have bought him a new set...’_ Bruce thought sneeringly.  The man lifted his beverage from the tray.  “I am retiring for the evening and I do not wish to be disturbed.”

Bruce conveyed his understanding with a simple nod.  He and his father held gazes for a moment, before the man turned to head up the stairs.  Bruce waited until he heard the door to the study click shut before he let out a breath and went to check on his mom.

She was heating up oil and worcestershire sauce in a pan, pulling the plastic wrap off a styrofoam pack of pork chops.  Carefully she laid two of them in the mixture; the meat popped and snapped upon contact.  Over her shoulder, she spoke up.  “You shouldn’t be so hard on your father, Bruce.”

The comment floored him.  “ _I_ shouldn’t be hard on _him??_  Mom, he hit you!”  Bruce gestured towards the staircase.  “He called you _worthless!_ ”

Rebecca sighed, prodding the cuts of pork with a fork.  “Sweetheart, he didn’t mean it.  You know he’s just under a lot of stress this time of year...”

Yes, he knew.  His father had told him the story himself two years ago, heavily under the influence and raging.  His grandfather had passed away just a week before Christmas when Brian had been nine years old, leaving him with only his mother and four siblings.  The widower hadn’t ever remarried, casting the family into deep poverty.  He’d told Bruce about the scraps that passed for meals, thread-bare hand-me-down clothes riddled with patches, not to mention the pity and ridicule by their more well-to-do peers.  The day Brian turned eighteen, he’d moved out to seek his own fortune and education, and he’d never looked back upon the family he’d left.  Bruce had never even met his grandmother or his aunts and uncles from his father’s side of the family, and he doubted he ever would if Brian had any say in the matter.

“I don’t care _how_ stressed he is or isn’t!  Just because he reviles his own mother is not an excuse to take it out on you!”

“Bruce, honey,” Rebecca shook her head, though she was no less shaken than when her son had first arrived, “It’s not that simple... He...”

Bruce didn’t _care_ how simple it was or wasn’t, he only cared that it was happening.  “He’s _never_ going to stop doing this.  He’s never going to stop hurting you.  I don’t know why you can’t just see that!!” he yelled, tears starting to sting his eyes.

“Stop it!” Rebecca snapped, slapping both her hands down on the countertop.  This was the second time in less than ten minutes that she’d felt backed into a corner, and this time she refused to be the victim.  Nothing could keep the tears from spilling over as she yelled back, “You think I don’t know, Bruce?!”

“Then _why??_ ” Bruce demanded.  “ _Why_ stay with him?!  Why are you putting us both through this?!”  He fought for composure-- his mother rarely ever yelled... not at him.  It threatened to snap his control...

Rebecca switched the burner off.  Her response was so quiet, Bruce might not have heard it if he weren’t paying attention.  “...Do you think I haven’t tried to leave?”

Her eyes slid shut, memory turning the clock back ten years.  Her darling baby boy had been seven; she’d told him they were taking a trip to SeaWorld, and Bruce was ecstatic, tugging on her dress and begging to bring Betty Ross along.  For an instant, it had made Rebecca’s conviction waver, knowing she would be pulling her son away from his childhood friend, but he could make others, so she had just smiled sadly and lied Betty could join them some other time.  Bruce had nodded, contentedly going outdoors to play while she finished packing the last few things she thought they might need.  But Brian had come home early from work.  When he saw the suitcases, he’d immediately become outraged, he’d struck her to the floor and he’d yelled at her for being so foolhardy and irresponsible.

_‘How can you hope to provide for our son on your own?!  How can you hope to afford his food and clothes and_ still _be the mother he needs, who gives him the love only a mother can give??  I give you both everything-- a roof over your heads, a warm place to sleep, food on the table, spending money-- and you’d throw it all away by running away!_  Think _of our_ son, _Rebecca.  Think of what’s best for_ him.’

And every word he spoke made sense.

Bruce choked.  “Mom, what are you--”

Rebecca came forward to pull her son’s head to her chest, stroking her fingers through his curls as she let tear droplets fall into his hair.  “He’s done so much for us... and never asked anything in return.  Where would we be without him?”

Bruce tried not to think about that.  He didn’t like to think he owed his father anything.  He could understand, maybe, why she hadn’t left before, or why she felt she couldn’t.  He tried to slow his heart down as he spoke more calmly, putting his hands on both her arms to establish eye-contact.  “We could still leave.   _Now..._  I c-could get a job, I don’t have to go to college; we could find a way--”

“Bruce, baby, hush...” she implored him, cradling his head again.  “Please, no more of this talk.”  He felt her lips press down on his temple, whispering.  “I don’t want you to become like h-him.  I wish you could have known him before...”

Before what?  Bruce felt his larynx clench.  Before he’d come along?  A feeling of utter wretchedness washed over him, despite the loving touches his mother was sweeping through his hair.  He yanked himself away from her embrace.

“Bruce, are you alright?” Rebecca asked worriedly, sensing his distress.

“I’m fine,” he readily lied, eyes downcast.  His chest felt ready to cave in under self-loathing... he could feel the pressure squeezing in around his skull... his innards felt like they were turning themselves inside-out.  “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, sweetheart...” she crooned, putting a hand to her breast.  “You don’t have to say you’re sorry... I know you were just worried...”

Bruce swallowed; she hadn’t understood what he meant.  He nodded anyway.

Rebecca turned back to the stove, switching the burner back on.  “Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes.”

“Alright,” he said, moving out of the kitchen.  Normally he would have offered to help, but right now he just needed some time alone... to get ahold of himself... and fast.  He pat down his front somewhat frantically, feeling for the familiar box-shape in his coat pocket as he took the presents quickly back to his room, throwing them on his desk to deal with later.  He then hurried outside, removing his matches and cigarettes.

Bruce lit up and wafted the match out, lifting the flower pot to add it to the other four expended matches and butts beneath the terra-cotta ceramic.  He didn’t feel like standing, so he sat on the step, puffing methodically in and out, urging the nicotine to surge through his system.  The first of two wasn’t going to last long this time; he’d slow down and savor the second.  Bruce tried to not let it bother him that he only had two left of the eight he’d started out with.  It made him wonder if Tony had a fake ID to buy them with.  And if his friend had bought any more yet...

Probably not, he thought, pausing to drag his tongue across his front teeth with a disgusted flip.  Tony only smoked once a year, unlike what was clearly becoming a nasty habit for him.  He pursed his lips and exhaled a long, slow breath of smoke, watching it plume into the air.  At least he was calm now.

Bruce drug out his phone.  He was a little surprised to see he had a text waiting-- he hadn’t heard it come in, but maybe that wasn’t quite such a surprise with how his evening had gone.  He opened it up.

_‘Hey.  I bet you’re reading this an hour late, but I hope you made it back okay.  I wanted to see if you’d be interested in coming by the Saturday after next and helping me decorate.  I’ll return the favor, if yours aren’t already up.’_

His night had been Hell, but the text made Bruce smile.  He cross-checked the time stamp with the current time, amused; technically it had been two hours later.  He poked ‘reply’ and keyed in a message, _‘Next Saturday is the 21st.  Don’t you think that’s cutting it a little close to the wire?  Why not Monday morning?’_  He sent it out, licking his lips; Tony ought to still be up and about to answer.  Christmas decorating sounded like a fun, light-hearted escape to his current broodings.

Tony heard the buzz in the pocket of his jeans as he padded in from the bathroom, a toothbrush hanging from his foaming mouth.  Plucking the phone out of his pocket, he returned to the sink to spit and rinse, reading the text out of the corner of his eye.  He responded as soon as he’d set his toothbrush in its holder.

_‘You okay?  I hope you didn’t get an earful for being out to the mall during finals week.  And I could shoot for Monday, but I usually do it on the first day of winter break.  Family tradition, if any family ever bother to show up.  Not sure yet if Dad’ll be here.’_

Bruce let out a slightly rueful sigh, exhaling smoke at the same time.   _‘He was a bit too focused on my mom to be angry with me.  And Monday *is* the first day of winter break.’_

Tony’s eyebrows furrowed, and he texted back quickly, _‘Are you both okay?  The fuck was his problem this time?!’_

Bruce tapped the accumulating ash off on the stoop, considering how to phrase his response as another text came in.

_‘And also, if we had classes on Saturday and Sunday, I’d agree with you on the first day of break being Monday.  But we don’t, so I won’t.’_

Bruce shook his head.   _‘Mom was trying to get him to agree to buying me a car.’_  The answer didn’t put any outright blame on his father.

Tony scoffed bitterly, thumbs attacking the keys.   _‘Well you fucking deserve one.  Hell, you deserve *three*.  I can’t imagine all the fun you’ve missed in life just trying to be his ‘perfect genius son’.  The question is whether it’s a financial issue or just that he doesn’t approve of anyone else having an opinion.’_  The tone of disdain in the incoming text was blatantly obvious.

Tony was of the same opinion as his mother then.  Though regardless, it simply wasn’t prudent.  It wasn’t a matter of ‘trying’ to measure up to his father’s standards-- in fact, Bruce kind of resented the accusation.  He butted out the end of his cigarette before replying, choosing to take a little breather before immediately going to his second.   _‘It’s financial.’_

Tony was taken aback by the response.  He knew Bruce well enough to know that the shorter his replies were, the angrier he actually was.  He didn’t have anything nice to say, so he didn’t say anything.  Thinking his words over carefully, Tony texted his reply.

_‘You deserve a lot of good things.  But I don’t think it’s as important to get the things you deserve as it is to *know* that you deserve them.  Plus, you get a lot of shit you don’t deserve, but take it better than some people do when they actually deserve it.  Does that make any sense to you?  Because I think I might have lost my point somewhere...’_

Yeah, actually it made a lot of sense.  And hit upon some of his core nature.  Bruce readjusted his glasses thoughtfully.   _‘Well, it would be cool--’_ he paused his typing but kept the vernacular-- _‘to own a car, but I don’t see it happening anytime in the near future.’_

_‘Sorry, bro.  I already finished my Christmas shopping for the year.  :P’_

_‘Kidding, just in case you’re particularly dense tonight.’_

Bruce gave a snort.   _‘Yeah, thanks.’_  He propped his second cigarette in his mouth and struck another match to light it up.

Tony glanced at his typed response fondly, wondering if he should just erase it and say something else.  “Hm.  Fuck it.”  He hit send, already embarrassed.

_‘You know I’d get you one anyways.  You’ve done way more for me without even spending a dime.’_

Bruce lifted a quizzical eyebrow and pulled his cigarette from between his lips, reading it again.  It was hard to tell, through text, just how serious Tony was being.  Yeah, his friend was loaded, but come on.  And that sentiment, that he’d ‘done so much for him’... it made him really think.  Was this just another situation where he’d acted without expecting reward?  Tony’s friendship _was_ the reward though, wasn’t it?  There wasn’t anything else that he’d been hoping to gain, was there?  He gnawed his lower lip a tad, recalling once again, the late-night ‘visit’ Tony had paid him in his sleep... and for an instant, he really doubted his own motives.

_‘Dude, I’m not really gonna.  You’d feel all awkward and guilty about it.  Just say thanks.  And be proud that *if* I went all Oprah and air-lifted a Lamborghini in and dropped it on your dad, you’d totally deserve it.’_

The phone vibrating in his hand brought him out of his musing.   _‘Okay, thanks.’_ Bruce sent off, only to frown at the fact that his last two responses had almost been identical and didn’t get across any of his feelings.  He huffed a short sigh and added, _‘Sorry, just wasn’t an easy thing to come home to.  And I haven’t gotten any studying done for tomorrow.’_

_‘You’ll work it out.  You always do.  I have a habit of gravitating towards people who have their shit together.’_

Bruce smiled, logging away the compliment.   _‘Like Pepper?’_ he penned back.

Tony smiled too, in spite of the blood rushing to his cheeks at putting his ex and his best friend under the same microscope.  Slowly over the past few days, his mind had been piecing something together.  And right then, with a growing sense of dread, he realized why he wasn’t able to get over this unspoken sexual attraction.  It was because this went deeper than a physical attraction or raging hormones.

_‘I like him.’_  Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, _‘I have a crush on my best friend.  Oh fuck, this is way worse than I thought.’_

He tried to calm himself enough to text back, his honesty betraying him somewhat in his shocked state, _‘You’re a whole different league, buddy.’_  He rolled his eyes even before he’d hit send.  A little telling maybe, but Bruce was oblivious and the big guy needed the ego boost anyways.

Bruce gave a cough, not from the smoking.  He’d certainly think they were in different leagues since Tony and Pepper had been romantically involved in the past.  Maybe what he’d said had come out wrong.  Or maybe he meant it.  It wasn’t the first time his friend had claimed to value him over his old flame.  He felt an odd nervousness stir inside him... their responses had been growing further and further apart and the time was only ticking now and he hadn’t even begun a response.  He stared down at the little device cradled in his hands, cigarette drooping loosely from his mouth.

_‘I miss this.’_

_‘Texting each other til one of us falls asleep.’_

_‘Makes the night seem less lonely.’_

Bruce felt his heart do a flip-flop in his chest at the string of three texts that had just hit his phone one after the other.  He glanced around his front yard, feeling a little guilty that his friend didn’t know he wasn’t in bed right now.  But it brought on another emotion too, because he could envision Tony laying on his back under the covers, staring up at the ceiling of ink-jet printed stars...

_‘Sorry, I’m a little tired.  Texts are probably gonna look silly in the morning.  Ha ha.’_

Bruce felt himself ease a little bit at the fourth message, chuckling softly under his breath.   _‘Don’t worry about it.  It’s nice, you’re right.’_  He leaned back a little to stare at the starscape up far beyond his own head.   _‘I can see Orion from here.  What about you?’_

There was a short pause, and he’d assumed Tony may have fallen asleep, before the cellular phone vibrated in his hand once more,

_‘I found it.  Took me a while.  Forgot I moved it to the right place.  Thanks for pointing it out.’_

Bruce chuckled, lifting his arm up and extending his fingers as if to grasp the constellation in the sky.  Unlike the print-out on Tony's ceiling, this one couldn't be moved; it was fixed in place, unalterable a million miles out of his reach.  It had been arranged this way, whether by a higher power or pure chance, and no one could re-arrange something so colossal, not even the tiniest speck.  It awed him, as much as it humbled him to be so infinitesimal.

Some people believed the position of the stars told them their fate, that their alignment predicted every outcome of their life.  Inescapable.  Static.  Inexorable.  Four months ago, Bruce would have agreed.  That his life was nothing more than a sick twist of fate that he had no control over, to be lived out until the universe decided his time was up.

But Tony had moved his stars.  He'd reached up and plucked them right out of the sky, scattered them willy-nilly and laughed at the results like it was all fun and games.  He'd shown him he didn't have to sit back and accept what he'd been dealt, that he wasn't powerless, that he had the ability to make a difference in his own life and in Tony's.

He let out a breath and lowered his arm, closing his eyes.

He'd moved Tony's stars too, he realized then.  He'd reached up and gathered the disorganized, cluster of points and meticulously pieced them back together to form a more uniform whole.  Just as Tony had given him autonomy, he'd given his friend stability.

Bruce had never felt this deep of a connection with anyone.

_‘Yeah, anytime.’_ he finally penned back.  But he never got a response, so he had to assume Tony had fallen asleep.  He butt out his cigarette and went back inside to have dinner.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploaded by ChevySK, who(hopefully)finally figured out how to work the rich text editor.
> 
> Happy New Year! :D

_‘Hey, got a surprise for you.  I got my scholarship essay done early.  I’m free Saturday morning for Christmas decorating.’_  
  
That text, which he’d received earlier in the week, was the reason Tony was currently barefoot and in his pajamas on a Saturday morning, scrounging around up in the attic.  That poor tree had been up there somewhere for years collecting dust, replaced with a couple lazily strung garlands in Tony’s room and a few store bought Christmas cookies.  
  
This year he had someone to celebrate with, and he wasn’t even going to bother denying how great it felt, even after the new revelation that Monday night had brought him.  He was Tony Stark, the most important person in everybody’s life, let alone Bruce Banner’s.  He knew it was his ego talking, but if Betty Ross was intent on taking his place, she was going to be sent packing.  
  
He was probably shielding himself from the likely more complicated reality, but he was too overwhelmed with positive emotion to care.  Just the thought of being around the other teen was cause enough for a grin to tug at the corners of his mouth and not let go.  
  
His eyes finally fell upon a large rectangular box, covered with a thin layer of dust.  Even after all the years he remembered it to be the old fake Christmas tree.  It was a one piece setup, real-enough looking, and not much taller than his dad.  The Stark family had bought it for Tony’s first Christmas, before they’d really settled into their wealth.  Because of this, the tree was more sentimental than flashy, and in spite of the various lavish decorations that popped up yearly around the Stark household, the tree stayed the same.  
  
Tony remembered being ecstatic when he’d finally been able to help decorate, perched atop his father’s shoulders to place that year’s star or angel atop the tree.  His mother would be in the bedroom wrapping gifts, shooing him out with a finger to her lips.  
  
It was funny how lately he hadn’t felt anxiety when thinking about his mother.  Maybe his old wounds were healing over.  Maybe Bruce was helping.  Tony snorted; that was a stupidly poetic thought, but not altogether unlikely.  
  
If his memory served him correctly, the boxes of lights and ornaments would be behind the tree.  It would take a couple trips, and his dad wasn’t around to help, but he could probably have them downstairs and sorted in thirty minutes or so.  He sent a quick text to Bruce, just to check what time he’d be coming by.  Satisfied, he hopped in the shower.  
  
\--  
  
Friday’s last final at the Junior College had unexpectedly run over-time.  When 95% of the class hadn’t finished by the end of the period (Bruce included), the professor had allowed them to stay until completion.  
  
Which meant he got home closer to midnight than his typical eleven.  
  
And after an entire week of studying and testing and studying and testing and studying and testing, it was hardly a surprise that he’d only gotten so far as his bedroom before collapsing face-first onto his bed.  
  
It was far from a glamorous wake-up as well.  Groggy, stiff... half his arm was asleep from being pinned uncomfortably beneath him half the night, the nosepads of his glasses had dug painful divots into the soft part of his face...  Which failed to mention the rumpled state of yesterday’s clothing clinging to his skin, or the puddle of half-dried drool his stubbled cheek had been resting in for several hours.  Bruce groaned, rolling over onto his back and removing his glasses so he could throw his elbow over his face.  
  
As the fog of his mind gradually started to clear, Bruce began to wonder when his phone’s alarm was going to go off.  It felt like it was after nine...  Finally, convincing his limbs to move, he reached for the bedside table.  His fingers felt around the unoccupied wood surface before he squinted to confirm that his phone wasn’t there.  The cord for the charger was.  
  
Ugh, yeah, he’d forgotten to plug it in.  
  
It wasn’t in his pocket either.  During testing they’d been required to silence their electronic devices and stow them so there could be absolutely no disruptions or cheating.  Suppressing another groan, Bruce bent over the edge of the bed enough to grab the zipper on his backpack, opening the front-most pouch and digging around.  He depressed one of the buttons.  
  
His brow drew down in sleepy confusion when the cell’s lock-screen didn’t appear.  He pressed it again, only to realize it had run out of power during the night.  
  
Yeah, he had it together alright.  Juuust like Tony had said.  
  
Tony.  He was supposed to be at his friend’s doing Christmas decorating.  God, what time was it??  Bruce pulled up his sleeve and checked his analog wristwatch, and for a minute he might have thought it too had run out of battery and stopped just shortly after he’d gotten home.  
  
12:25 PM.  
  
How the Hell had he slept in so long?  Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, only to realize it was still tender from where his glasses had made an imprint.  He couldn’t recall the last time he’d slept twelve hours straight.  Though he had always heard Junior year would be the hardest.  He hoped spring semester wouldn’t prove as trying as fall.  
  
Chiding himself, Bruce sat up and plugged his phone into the charger.  He briefly considered going to use the phone in the kitchen to call his friend, but decided it wasn’t that urgent.  He’d be a little late, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world.  He’d shoot Tony a text once he was cleaned up and didn’t look like something the cat drug in.  Bruce stretched his arms above his head and got to it.  
  
\--  
  
Tony shot a glare at his phone once more from where he sat on the couch.  So much for coming in the morning.  It was well past noon now.  Bruce hadn’t responded to any of his texts, and Tony was beyond stressed.  
  
 _‘He probably got a call from Betty...’_ Tony thought, face sinking into his palms.   _‘Or maybe he just had more work to get done.  Maybe he just forgot.  How could he forget??  Pepper said I could trust him to make time for me! Well, obviously_ that _was a load of shit!’_   
  
A far more mortifying thought suddenly crossed his mind, _‘What if he knows? What if he’s avoiding me? Oh fuck.’_  
  
The pedestal he’d been on since the morning was beginning to crumble out from under him.  Scouring the house, he was surprised and further frustrated to note that he couldn’t find his pack of cigarettes _anywhere_ , even after tearing through and around every box in that goddamned attic.  Shaking, he shoved his house keys into his jean pocket, tossed on his hoodie and stomped out the front door, only stopping to send one text.  
  
\--  
  
Tony put his fake ID back in his pocket, gave the man a hundred dollar bill and grabbed his purchases, assuring the cashier he could keep the change.  He swallowed down the sour taste of guilt, telling himself that if Bruce could forget to tell him he wasn’t coming, he could forget to tell Bruce about this binge.  Or the next one.  Hell, he could forget to talk to Bruce until after winter break if he felt like it.  He stepped out of the liquor store cradling the brown paper bag like a child, before sitting on the curb, setting it down carefully beside him.  The bottles clinked together as he searched for the fresh pack of Newports, flipping the pack upside down and packing it against the palm of his hand furiously.  He made short work of the cellophane and foil, crumpling them up into a wad in one hand to stuff in his pocket.  He plucked out a single cigarette by the filter, placed it in his mouth and lit it, taking a long drag and feeling no better for it.  
  
That was when his phone vibrated.  Despite his anger and feelings of betrayal, he couldn’t help the way he jumped to hurriedly pull it out of his pocket to check, eyes hopeful.  His face fell instantly.  Pepper had texted him asking how everything was going.  He held the filter in between his lips tightly as he punched in his response, _‘It’s not. Thanks for asking.’_  
  
 _‘What do you mean ‘it’s not’?’_  You could almost hear her surprise in the words.  
  
Tony’s jaw clenched. He felt bad enough about this disaster of a day without having to explain it.  
  
 _‘I mean it’s not happening.  Bruce didn’t show.  He’s probably busy.  Or ignoring me or something because he’s not answering my texts.  Maybe Betty wanted to go to the movies.  I don’t know *or* care.  I’m taking a walk and then putting the tree and shit back upstairs.’_  
  
He thought for a second before sending out his last text and powering his phone down.  
  
 _‘Shutting my phone off now.  Bye.’_  
  
Shrugging it off as best he could, Tony finished the rest of his smoke and continued the lonely trek to his old hiding spot.  Bruce wouldn’t have been happy to know where he’d be in a few minutes anyway.  
  
\--  
  
Showered, hair combed, teeth brushed, shaven and dressed, Bruce emerged from the bathroom feeling freshened and significantly better than when he’d awoken.  Furthermore, he was practically bouncing on his heels with the excitement that he only needed to quickly have a bite to eat before he could go over to Tony’s.  It was a visible excitement only Tony had ever managed to bring to the surface.  
  
He went back to his room, picking up his now-charged cellphone to send the text that he was just about on his way.  But there were already two waiting for him.  He clicked open the first one, which was just asking what he was about to answer, when he was showing.  It had been sent at 7:30 that morning-- someone obviously hadn’t had a 9 PM final or was lying about coffee aggravating his dysrhythmia.  Bruce clicked to the next and faltered, staring down at the single word surrounded by white.  
  
 _‘Nevermind.’_  
  
What did that mean?  Was decorating off?  He’d been looking forward to it all week.  Bruce felt his spirits sink, but he keyed back just to make sure.   _‘Did something come up?’_  He waited about five minutes, but his phone never vibrated.  It seemed unlikely to him that something would have, but Tony had mentioned the possibility of having company over, hadn’t he?  Or maybe his dad had finally made good on the father-son bonding time thing.  
  
As many reasons as he came up with however, Bruce couldn’t really convince himself of any of them.  He wet his lips and sent off a second.   _‘I’m still free Monday if that works better.’_  With a soft sigh, he told himself he couldn’t spend the rest of the day here in his room just hoping Tony would text him back soon.  Gloomily, he stood up and headed for the kitchen.  
  
\--  
  
From his curled up position on his bed, Bruce pulled his phone out to check it for messages again.  He hadn’t felt it vibrate at any point, so he knew there was nothing waiting for him to see, but he checked it anyway, just the way he’d checked it every fifteen minutes for the last two and a half hours.  Dejectedly, he forced it back into his pocket and forced his eyes back down upon the book cradled in his lap.  
  
This was the method Bruce used to shut out the world around him.  It was how he hid, so no one could see his pain or emotions.  Reading was what he had always done to keep his mind off all the darker things that might otherwise occupy it... reading shut out the sad story of his own life.  It was escapism.  While he was lost in the pages of a book, it was almost as if he didn’t exist... he was protected.  
  
But for reasons Bruce couldn’t explain, this time it wasn’t working.  
  
 _‘Nevermind.’_  His eyes halted on the sentence he was currently scanning over, lapsing back into thought.  It sounded so final.  No explanation.  No reassurance.  No closure.  Just... nevermind.  
  
Bruce shook his head.  He was letting himself get over-wrought for no reason.  It was just a circumstantial cancellation and Tony just hadn’t been able to get back to him yet.  Tony would have been honest with him if it had been more than that.  
  
...Right?  
  
He slid his phone back out of his pocket and navigated to his contacts, selecting Tony from the short list to dial in his number.  However the phone didn’t even ring, rerouting immediately.  
  
 _‘You’ve reached the voicemail of Tony Stark.  Not nearly as charming as the real me, I know, but leave your name and number and you might be so lucky next time.  Beeeep.  Psyche!’_  
  
The Tony-esque voice-recording would have normally brought him a smile or an amused chuckle, but instead all it did was remind him of the companionship he was currently missing.  Bruce cleared his throat and vocalized.  
  
“Hey Tony, I haven’t heard back from you.  I guess you’re probably busy... but, um... well, get back to me as soon as you can, okay?  I...” he hesitated then-- what was he about to say?  That he missed him?  That Tony was worrying him?  He forced himself to continue, knowing the droid was still recording his bumbling silence.  “Yeah.  Hope to hear from you soon.”  And he hung up, already knowing he wouldn’t be receiving a call back any time soon.  
  
Bruce drug his fingers through his hair.  Something was wrong.  It just wasn’t like Tony to give him the cold shoulder.  The other teen never had told him what had been bugging him that Monday after they’d hung out at the mall.  He wondered if it had anything to do with the current situation.  Damn it, Tony always had to be so stubborn and act like nothing was the matter to save face!  Fine, if Tony refused to call him back, Bruce would go over to his place anyway and refuse to leave until his friend finally fessed up, even if it took him all weekend.  
  
He grabbed his keys and coat and left, slamming the door on his way.  
  
\--  
  
Tony sat by the water, exhaling smoke and warm air through his nose.  He glared at the brown paper bag that sat innocently beside him.  He’d popped one bottle open about five minutes earlier, taken a single sip, and found the taste so disgusting he spat it out and lobbed the bottle into the semi-still waters.  
  
It wasn’t the quality of the liquor that had bothered him, although it was by no means one of his dad’s fancy imports.  What _had_ bothered him, what _still_ bothered him, was the idea of breaking his promise to Bruce.  Even if Bruce hated him, forgot him, or just thought he was stupid for making such a big deal about this whole thing, Tony couldn’t stand the idea of breaking his promise. For _any_ reason.  
  
He’d bought all this alcohol, and he couldn’t drink.  Because he wouldn’t.  Because he _couldn’t_.  It made him feel better and even worse at the same time.  Growling in frustration, and needing to get his emotions out somehow, he upended the brown bag.  Bottles spilled out over the ground, and he grabbed them one by one and emptied them onto the ground, tossing the empties in all directions, some shattering on contact with rocks and trees, others landing mutely in the dirt or breaking the surface of the levee with a splash.  When he’d ran out of empties he grabbed rocks and sticks, lobbing them wherever made the most noise, though his own screams still rang the loudest.  
  
Heaving and panting, he sunk to his haunches, collapsing into a seated position on the ground.  He finally surrendered to his weakness and let the tears fall.  He felt so trapped, even though he technically could have done whatever he wanted with that alcohol.  He’d smoked half a pack of cigarettes so far without any hesitation, after all.   
  
He scoffed at the thought that even without being here, Bruce had still managed to instill his influence.  Maybe that was why Tony felt so lost right now.  How could you excise something that had already become such a vital part of your everyday life, especially when you didn’t want to let go in the first place?  Tony had no idea.  And he didn’t want to learn.  
  
He’d been happy.  He just wanted things to stay like they were before Betty came around, before his feelings got involved.  It felt like the things he’d grown to love in his life had come just in time and were leaving far too early, like a subway train he wasn’t fast enough to chase after.  It was starting to get dark outside, and Tony had already decided he wasn’t going home.  He pulled out his pack, wiped his eyes, and lit another cigarette, pulling the hood of his sweater up over his head.  This was gonna be a long, cold night...  
  
\--   
  
The Stark household was empty.  
  
After knocking several times on the door and shouting to be let in, Bruce had finally just tried turning the knob.  To his great surprise, it was unlocked and he entered warily, toeing his shoes off in the entry.  
  
The fact that Tony’s hadn’t been there should have clued him on ahead of time.  
  
“Tony!” he called, cupping his hand to his mouth to give it more projection.  “Tony!  Where are you?”  He passed by the couch in the living room, pausing when he noticed the several boxes that had been presumably hauled down from the attic earlier that morning.  He crouched down in the center of them to pop one open; it was full of brightly colored ornaments.  Bruce lifted one out, watching it sparkle as it dangled between his fingertips.  The boxes surrounding him were all labeled.  The tree, string lights, ornaments, wreaths, a nativity scene.  Everything had been organized, laid out and ready.  It was only missing one thing...  
  
His friend.  
  
The thin golden string slipped out of his fingers and the ornament shattered on the floor.  The sound momentarily threw Bruce into a trance and he stared at the pile of glittering glass shards as if he couldn’t quite figure out how they’d gotten there, or if he should pick them up or leave them.  His mother would have picked them up to hide the evidence.  Bruce closed his eyes and shook his head roughly, forcing his thoughts back to the present.  
  
He stood to continue scouring the house, becoming more and more frantic with each shout of his friend’s name he gave.  Even as it grew increasingly obvious that he wasn’t here, he held out on the hope that he was.  Bruce checked the other teen’s bedroom, no Tony.  He descended the stairs into the basement den, no Tony.  He tried the indoor pool, no Tony.  He scrambled up the stairs to the attic, no Tony.  
  
He should have been here.  He should have been here waiting for him.  They were supposed to do this together.  
  
Bruce collapsed onto his knees, clutching at his own arms.  Distress was eating away at his rationality, turning into instinct.  He was losing his grip on the situation; he could only dully register the feel of the crescent-shaped rings his fingernails were creating in his skin as he dug his fingers into his biceps.  Something had happened to Tony.  And unlike the bonfire, this time he hadn’t been there to stop it from happening, to protect his friend.  Unless...  
  
Unless it was something he couldn’t protect him from.  His eyes popped open, pupils constricting.  
  
No no no... if Tony had suffered another dysrhythmia attack...  
  
He shot up from the floor.  He should have realized earlier.  Howard was probably there at the hospital with him-- that would explain why he wasn’t here.  Maybe Pepper had heard as well, but she didn’t have his number to tell him.  Bruce shoved his shoes on his feet and bolted from the house.  
  
\--  
  
The front-desk reported with certainty that no Anthony Stark had been admitted to the hospital or any others nearby at any point that day or any time before that day back in September.  
  
Which should have been a relief, to know that Tony wasn’t in the ER currently having his chest sawed open again.  Except now Bruce’s mind had contorted the possibilities into much worse ones...  He could picture the teen, laying in a ditch somewhere, belly up, immobile and gasping for breath while the life slowly drained out of him without any hope of rescue or aid...  
  
He could hear the rush of blood in his ears-- it sounded like his whole world crashing down around him.  He’d thought his book couldn’t cover up his pain from earlier that morning... no number of libraries could ever hope to cover it up if he lost his best friend.  Shaking, he left the hospital; it felt like his feet were ghosting along the asphalt as he walked through the parking lot towards his moped, not even sure where to check next...  
  
A loud crash to his right managed to get his attention.  He looked up only to see a drunken bum had accidentally slammed his shopping cart full of worldly possessions into someone’s car.  The hobo yelled at the parked motor vehicle before tipping back his whiskey and checking the bungee cords securing his black plastic trash bags.  
  
And it hit Bruce.  Drinking.  At the levee.  
  
Bruce gripped his keys tight and hurried the rest of the way to his bike, mounting it and taking off, leaving a black stripe of rubber behind him the length of which would’ve even impressed Tony if he were there to see.  
  
It didn’t take him too long to get to the place where the road travelled alongside the river.  He skidded to a stop at the top of the levee, barely waiting for the motorized bike to slow before jumping off it.  It landed on its side, kicking up gravel, wheels still spinning as Bruce dashed down the slope towards where it bottomed out with the creek.  “Tony!” he called out, voice echoing off the water and banks.  His feet slipped and slid around on the loose leaves covering the ground in his frenzied searching.  “Tony, God damn it!!”  He could barely see it was so dark, but he wasn’t going to wait around for his eyes to adjust, stumbling along the shore.  
  
Tony whipped his head around to search for the source of the voice, wiping his eyes again and pulling down his hood.  “Bruce?” he asked the dark, heart giving a pitter-patter in his chest at the implication that his friend was somewhere nearby... and searching for him.  
  
When he heard it, Bruce wasn’t sure at first if his ears had started to play tricks on him, inventing Tony’s voice because he was desperate to hear it.  Nonetheless, he ran towards it.  He barrelled three more steps before spotting the other teen, hunched up on the ground, a lit cigarette in his mouth.  “Tony...” he panted, disbelieving he’d found him.  The teen stared at him from his spot, neither moving or saying a word to one another for several long seconds, the hot tip of Tony’s cigarette glowing dimly in the dark.  Well, so much for once a year.  Not only that... Bruce’s vision broadened out, realizing the small reflections of moonlight on the ground were being casted off by several bottles scattered around his friend.  Highlighting the visual evidence was the acerbic smell stagnating the air around.  Tony had broken his promise, and been ‘drowning out his sorrows’ again.  All Bruce’s former worry condensed singularly into rage.  “Tony!  What the goddamn Hell are you doing here??” he shouted at him, both hands curled into fists at his sides.  
  
It was fairly obvious to Tony that Bruce had been worried about him, though he wasn’t sure why.  He shivered inside his hoodie, the thin cotton not doing much to protect him from the dropping temperature.  “You weren’t coming,” he started.  “You didn’t text back--”  
  
“Like _Hell_ I didn’t text you back!!” Bruce snarled.  He lifted his hand to indicate with his fingers, jabbing the air.  “Two texts, one phone call!”  
  
“Was that before or after I shut my phone off?” Tony growled back, not sure who the bad guy was in this anymore, but dammit, it felt damn good to yell right now, “How long was I supposed to wait?  When someone like you says Saturday morning, that usually implies I’ll get at least an RSVP before noon!  The Hell were you doing?  Rubbing elbows with Betty?  Or did _you_ tell Pepper to text me about today and see how bummed I was?”  
  
“How bummed _you_ were??” the spiteful tone in Bruce’s voice only grew, “I hadn’t even woken up before you told me the whole damn day was off!  I worked my ass off all week just so we could do this today!  And how do you repay me??”  He trembled with pent-up frustration-- he wouldn’t have gone to nearly so much effort or been half as let down if they were talking about Betty right now.  The fact that Tony was bringing her up was nothing short of ridiculous, and it fueled his fury.  “All I could do was sit in my fucking room, wondering what happened, or if you were even okay!!”  
  
Tony felt his heart plummet into his stomach, bile rising up in its place.  He felt regretful, comforted, but partially sickened if Bruce was saying what he thought Bruce was saying, “Why wouldn’t I be ‘okay’?” he asked dangerously, putting special emphasis on the last word.  He crushed the end of his cigarette roughly into the damp earth beside him, adding a sharp twist.  Seething, he continued, “Tell me all this extra concern isn’t just about my fucking heart problem.  If all this has just been you playing mommy and extending sympathies, then I’d rather you just leave me alone.”  
  
Bruce stomped forward and seized his friend by the front collar.  After all that sobby, drunk _crap_ in the attic about never wanting him to leave.  That was obviously all it had been.  He hauled Tony up onto his tip-toes, holding him up in front of his face.  “Yeah, that’s what you want?  Don’t want me around for you anymore?”  Their noses were practically touching but Bruce didn’t lower his voice even one decibel.  “You want me to leave you the way I fucking _found_ you??” he spat back, giving the young man a rough shake in demand of an answer.  It was harsh... too harsh, but hurt was carving out his insides; his blood was boiling and he couldn’t stop himself...  
  
“I want you to be here for _me_ , not my fucking health!” Tony shouted back, squinting away tears and struggling in the iron grip; Bruce’s fist in his windpipe making it hard to draw a breath.  “If all you care about is me dying off your fucking watch, then you’re wasting your energy.”  
  
Bruce dropped him suddenly, letting the other teen land on his ass.  “You know what you need to do, Tony?” he pointed an accusatory finger at him.  “You need to let go of this fucking _pride_ you’ve got.  Because right now, if anyone so much as _dares_ to worry about you, you shove them out of your life.”  Scorn hissed from between his lips.  “You did it to Pepper, you’re still doing it to your dad, and so I guess now I’m next, is that right?!”  His wrath accelerated at all the others Tony had hurt with this stubborn, idiotic attitude.  It was probably too far but Bruce couldn’t stop his next barbed words from leaving his mouth.  “I bet if your mother were alive, you’d be doing it to her too!!”  
  
Tony took those words like a dagger to the chest.  Nonetheless, he got to his feet, unwilling to just sit and take this ruthless verbal lashing.  He narrowed his eyes at the other, “My mother hasn’t got shit to do with this.  Neither does pride.  You don’t get it, Bruce.  You’re not even _trying_ to get it.”  He thrust both hands against his own chest, trying to explain through his frustration.  “I’m a person. Not a disease. Not a victim. I have a heart problem, but it's not who I am, got it?  How would you fucking feel if I called you everyday and the first thing I asked was whether you or your mom had any new broken bones?”  
  
Bruce gave a short-tempered snort through his nose like a bull preparing itself to charge.  Eye for an eye and all that-- if Bruce was going to drag his mom into this, Tony could sure as Hell dole out the same punishment.  
  
Tony continued, “I _care_ , but not to the degree where the problems matter more to me than the people who have them!”  He ground his teeth together a moment, doubting even one word of his point was managing to penetrate his friend’s thick skull.  “And I haven’t shoved you out of my life,” Tony went on to correct with mild frustration.  “I just fucking _pray_ the only reason you came round looking for me wasn’t just to check and see if I was dying.  I have _bigger_ worries right now!  Today!  Real worries, shit that’s actually fucking going on, and not some imaginary heart attack in someone’s fucking head, which I’m apparently _still_ responsible for.”  
  
Bruce had never been more livid with Tony the entirety of their friendship, and it was so _so_ hard to resist the urge to send the back of his hand across his face.  Instead he swiveled around and proceeded to slam his knuckles into the trunk of a tree, causing some of the wood to split with a loud _’crack!’_.  He hissed at the pain.  
  
Tony flinched; Bruce was nearly seeing red now, and if they were both angry, things would only spiral further and further out of control.  As satisfying as it was to scream it out now, Tony needed to suck it up, or they could both end up in the hospital tonight.  Struggling to focus on the greater problem, he inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly in an attempt to dispel his frustrations and attack this situation with a little less hostility.

“Bruce, believe it or not, I’m glad to know you give a fuck whether I live or die.  You’re more than allowed.  It’s nice to feel... cared for.”  He paused a moment, eyes sliding shut.  How many times could he recall Pepper saying that?  That she ‘just cared about him’?  And he’d done nothing but repeatedly spurn her.  Even so, he couldn’t let go of the ugly feeling of betrayal swirling in his gut.  “I just...  If you knew I was alive and fine would you still have come running down here?” Tony implored, needing to know the answer.

Bruce’s shoulders slackened slightly upon hearing the question.  He didn’t move, still leaned against the tree with his fist; he turned his head to answer bitterly to the ground.  “I searched your whole house before thinking to hit the hospital.”  It had probably been a stupid assumption to come to now that he thought about it, but he’d been so panicked and alarmed... he’d jumped to conclusions.  But he had to ask himself, was it really so wrong to care?  To be scared he’d lost who he could firmly say without any loss of conviction was the only person to ever understand him on a deeper level?  
  
Tony let out a breath, eyes closed and savoring the answer.  He’d falsely accused the big guy then.  He shifted uncomfortably, mind returning to the situation at large.  “I... I didn’t think you were coming.  I didn’t want to do the tree alone...”  He sniffled, rubbing his eyes as the tears started to flow again, even though the ducts under his eyes were swollen and burning.  “I wanted you there, and I thought you weren’t coming, and that you lied or forgot or just didn’t want to... but...”  If he’d just waited.  If stupid impulsive Tony hadn’t jumped the gun and decided to play runaway, maybe Bruce wouldn’t have worried.  Maybe they’d be trimming the tree right now.  Tony had ruined everything, hadn’t he?  When would he learn?  He sunk to his knees under the weight of this revelation, sobbing.  His own selfishness and irrationality had caused harm to his best friend once again.  “God damn it... This is all my fault... I _am_ a horrible person..."

Tony felt like he was being driven home from the bonfire all over again.

The sounds of his friend’s crying got Bruce to turn around and gaze back down at him.  There were about a dozen things he could say right now, but none of them seemed like they were going to improve the situation.  What was done was done, and at this point, after fighting and screaming at one another for a good fifteen minutes, Bruce wasn’t about to contend where blame did or didn’t lie.  He just wanted things to be right between them again.  He crouched down next to the teen and forcefully pulled him against his front to embrace him tightly.

“Don’t... d-don’t touch me...” Tony struggled weakly in Bruce’s grip.  He didn’t trust himself so close to the other teen, especially not at the moment while his emotions were so frayed and unstable.  
  
“Shut up,” Bruce silenced gruffly.  He didn’t care what the other teen might say about not deserving it because he was a bad person, because he wasn’t.  And Tony was his _friend_.  And friends forgave one another.  No matter how angry they got at one another.  
  
“You don’t know what’s going on in my head right now...!” Tony wept.  
  
“I said _shut up_ ,” Bruce ground out, irritation threatening to claw its way through again.  He clutched tighter, as if to force the boy to calm down and let him hug him... like that could somehow sew up all the wounds they’d cut into one another tonight.  His head dipped down, forehead setting against the back of Tony’s skull and closing his eyes.  
  
It felt both so good and so wrong to hold him like this.  Tony needed the comfort right now, Hell, so did he, but he knew there was more to it than that.  Every time they touched now, it gave him more gratification than some simple token of their friendship.  And Bruce wanted it more and more... more frequently, for more extended periods.  Like an itch he couldn’t scratch enough to make it go away... like an addiction he couldn’t quite sate.  And he knew it was underhanded to take Tony’s gestures of friendship and twist them into how he wanted to imagine them.  Almost like taking advantage of him without the other knowing...  
  
Tony swallowed, locked tight in the other’s embrace and temporarily surrendering himself to it.  Bruce felt warm... and safe.  And it wasn’t like he could realistically get away anyhow.  He shut his eyes and let the other teen’s body heat gradually transfer to him; he hadn’t really realized how cold he’d gotten sitting out here.  His nerve endings started to tingle, and he felt like he might explode if he didn’t set things straight.  “Listen to me,” he pleaded as he pushed on Bruce’s chest; grudgingly, the other teen loosened enough for him to escape.  Tony stood; Bruce’s arms reached out to follow, but dropped.  
  
“This is pretty awkward..." Tony bit his lip, swallowing, "But it looks like I have to spell it out for you.” he managed a weak, chagrined chuckle at his own expense, recalling what the Bruce who had asserted himself so strongly in his dream had said.  He took a deep breath, trying to draw strength from that Bruce, to imagine he was speaking to him in place of the real one.  
  
Bruce’s forehead wrinkled, trying to parse that statement on his own, but he was unable.  He stood, looking perplexed.  “Spell out what?”  
  
Tony clasped his hands on Bruce’s shoulders tightly.  “I don’t want you to leave,” he choked out, his feet moving him forward on their own, “I’ve actually been afraid that if I told you... you would.”  He exhaled, sweeping a hand through his hair.  “B-but it’s getting harder and harder to pretend that I feel the same way I did back when this all started...”  
  
Bruce’s eyebrows quirked, forced into taking a couple steps backward as Tony advanced.  “What do you...?” he got out with confusion, blinking behind his spectacles.  When all what started?  Was he referring to them?  Did he mean their friendship?  They’d been just starting to grow into one another’s company back then.  Or did Tony mean something else?  
  
“Please,” Tony interrupted, staring him down with pained eyes, “I’m gonna chicken out if I stop.”  
  
Bruce stared back into those brown eyes that were riveted on him and still slightly moist along the lids.  He’d been told to stay quiet but he had to ask.  “Is this... is this the same thing that was bothering you Monday?” he inquired softly.  
  
The teen nodded.  “I just...” Tony licked his lips nervously.  He was acting on impulse, and he didn’t have so much as a drop of liquor in his system to help him along.  “I can’t stop thinking this way.  I’m sorry if it fucks everything up between us but...”  He took two more long steps forward and Bruce’s back hit the trunk of a tree, the bark scuffing against his shirt; their backwards motion halted.  
  
Tony paused, taking in the sight of his cornered friend.  He was wearing a patented Bruce Banner look of concern, eyebrows drawn tight and forehead creased over the line of his glasses.  His lips parted in preparation to ask something his brain hadn’t quite yet formed.  Tony must have been on the brink of insanity, waiting for that final string to snap and drop him into the abyss, because try as they might, all his fears and regrets couldn’t hold him back from what he was about to do.  He placed his hands on the tree trunk, on either side of Bruce, preventing quick escape.

"T-Tony," Bruce stammered. Tony had been many things to Bruce, but intimidating was a first, "What's wrong with you?"

" _You_." Tony answered, not breaking eye contact.

"What are you..." Bruce started, but Tony's chuckle cut him off. 

“You dolt." he rolled his eyes, leaning forward an inch more, "You really _are_ clueless...” Tony’s voice was husky as he spoke, his eyes clouding with lust as he plunged forward into those parted lips.  
  
A hard breath came shuddering out of Bruce’s lips, hands hovering in the air a moment in surprise before snapping to the other teen’s back.  He tugged, pulling their bodies flush.  Had he been given the opportunity to think about what was going on, he might have questioned what was going on first before reacting so suddenly... but instead he found his mouth crushing into Tony’s harder than he ever had the opportunity to do in his dream.  
  
Almost as suddenly as he’d began, Tony broke the contact, flinching backwards and covering his face reflexively.  And when he realized the fist wasn’t coming, he lowered his arms and stared back at the guy he’d just kissed.  Tony’s eyebrows were raised and his mouth parted in silent question, almost as if to ask, ‘Is this really happening?’.  
  
Bruce let his tongue flick out to wet already damp lips.  It certainly hadn’t been an expected turn of events, but it definitely resolved his former guilt for thinking of his friend in a sexual light.  “I think I have _some_ idea...” he murmured before spinning them to press Tony’s back against the trunk.  He thrust their mouths back together with renewed vigor, wanting to claim that normally talkative mouth as _his_.  
  
Tony eyes drifted shut as he battled his aggressor for dominance, tongue darting out and hands tracing their way down Bruce’s sides to rest tentatively on his backside.  He had to remember that Bruce wasn’t going to like the same things a girl would.  He’d just need to play it by ear.  Was it bad he was already starting a checklist in his head?  Though admittedly, he was still baffled by the fact that he was even in this position.  Not dreaming, nor pretending.  This bafflement led him to once more pull away from his friend’s lips to utter a cheeky, “The fuck have _I_ been missing this whole time?”  
  
Bruce issued a grunt in response, too focused on the pleasure of the moment to do much vocalizing, especially when he just wanted to do the things he’d been fantasizing about doing to the other teen.  He reached up and scraped his thumb along the other’s jaw line, goading him to give him back his lips.  
  
Tony smirked as he complied with the other’s request, diving back in and attacking Bruce’s bottom lip.  He nipped and nibbled gently, occasionally dragging his tongue in between the other’s lips.  He was looking to excite Bruce, not overwhelm him, though it was proving difficult to restrain himself.  It was obvious who had more experience in this, but damn was Bruce a quick learner... and exuberant too, which more than made up for any bumbling on his friend’s part.  He tried to lead by example, allow the big guy to pick up a rhythm before moving on.  
  
A grated groan resulted from the work Tony’s incisors were doing, and Bruce took point, detaching to find another place for his mouth to rest.  His lips searched skin a moment before he settled on his throat, just under the chin... the tip of his nose scraping in the short hairs of the other’s goatee.  
  
“Ah!  Fuck, Bruce...” Tony moaned, tilting his head back to grant the other better access.  His fingers snaked their way into Bruce’s hair, grabbing, but not pulling.  
  
The sound made his groin pulse with interest.  Bruce shifted his feet, pushing his hips back momentarily to allow himself room to grow before unabashedly pressing back against Tony.  He took advantage of the column of flesh being exposed to him, alternating his tongue and teeth against it.  
  
Tony’s fingers flexed, eager to feel more.  “Hold up a sec,” he finally managed to call out, grabbing his friend’s shoulder gently.  
  
Bruce drug his tongue over the other teen’s pulse point with the kind of attitude a disobedient dog might exhibit being told to drop its chew toy.  Now that he’d started, he didn’t want to be interrupted.  “What?” he mumbled, fingers squeezing into one of Tony’s hips through the fabric of his clothes.  
  
Tony pushed Bruce gently backwards, enough to give the big guy the idea they were just switching how they were positioned, not stopping.  Tony followed him down to the ground, straddling his thighs.  Both his hands went directly for the front of his friend’s pants, but he stopped in place at first glance of Bruce’s obvious excitement pressing against his khakis.  His eyes darkened, his smirk turning a lustful kind of smug.  “I’ve seen him already, right?  I think I’ll take my time,” he taunted as he cupped the bulge and stroked it teasingly slow, applying just enough pressure to keep the big guy aroused.  
  
Bruce gave a snort-- this much about Tony wasn’t differentiable from his dream-- but settled his head back against the ground and shut his eyes, concentrating on the stimulation being given to him.  He could let Tony take over again for awhile.  Subconsciously his fingers roved up and down Tony’s thighs, miming the motion of his friend’s hand in silent encouragement.  
  
Tony’s fingers glided up and down, tracing the outline and applying a little more pressure, hoping to get better reactions, already taking mental notes as to where and what worked best.  Leaning down, he pulled back the collar of Bruce’s jacket with his free hand, and used his teeth and tongue to mark the junction between Bruce’s neck and shoulder.   
  
_‘Pepper hated that,’_ he mused internally, _‘But I doubt the big guy’ll mind much.’_  
  
Bruce hadn’t anticipated love-biting in the equation.  Not that it mattered much if Tony left a mark on his skin-- the collars on his shirts covered the current location of his friend’s teeth.  Tony had an eager mouth after all.  The thought went straight to his dick, sending a fresh pulse of blood to the region.  
  
The engorged sensation caught Tony’s attention.  He pulled away, stopping to croon into Bruce’s ear, right hand still busy petting the other teen’s organ, “Tell me what you want.”  
  
Bruce gave a hum, grabbing for Tony’s hips.  With a sharp tug, he pulled him higher to sit on his pelvis, bucking up against the weight of the other teen’s body.  “ _You_ ,” he answered lowly.  
  
That was more than enough for Tony, all apprehension he might have felt at the implications of such a statement completely overshadowed by the depths of desire in which he was currently inundated.  It took all the self control he had not to tear that fucking jacket off of the young man below him as he gyrated into his groin relentlessly.  
  
Bruce sucked in a sharp breath of the cold air around them, causing him to find a moment’s rationality.  “We... ah... we should go back to your place...” Bruce grated out past the waves of pleasure Tony was creating with his hips.  Even with as much as he wanted to continue what had been set in motion, he recognized it was a poor choice in location for intimacy.  
  
“If I can keep my hands off of you that long...” Tony groaned, dipping down to steal another kiss before finishing the thought, “It’s been at least a month already.  Shit... probably longer.”  
  
Bruce lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t add comment.  It was interesting enough to come to the realization that Tony had wanted this long before he did... and that there had been subtle clues strung along the way that indicated as much, _if_ Bruce had been paying attention-- from all those jokes to the drunken kiss in the attic.  
  
“I don’t suppose you would’ve stolen the ‘stang in your panic...” Tony smirked as he reluctantly stood, temporarily relinquishing his conquest.  He took a moment to catch his breath, before offering a hand to said conquest.  God, if it weren’t twenty-some fucking degrees outside(not factoring wind chill), he’d have taken his chances right here.  
  
Bruce shook his head as he took it.  “Just my bike.”  He dusted off what he could reach of the back of his jacket, stealing a hungry glance at his friend.  
  
“Works for me.”  Tony smirked, knowing he had no other choice but not really minding, “Hold on a sec, though.”  He held up a hand, the other delving into his pants and wriggling around.  “Gotta adjust the package for travel,” he said, not bothering to turn around.  Who here would he be helping by making an attempt at modesty?  
  
Bruce led the way back to the aforementioned conveyance, which was still sideways in the dirt.  It hadn’t exactly fared well these past two trips to the levee.  He stood it back up, rearranging himself slightly more discreetly than his friend before mounting the moped.  Before Tony had even gotten on behind him, he fired up the engine.  Normally, he wasn’t the impatient type, but the current circumstances weren’t exactly what fell into the range of his ‘normal’.  
  
Tony climbed on afterwards, and didn’t need any prompting to hold onto the driver as tightly as he could this time around.  “Just an FYI; Dad’s on a business trip until Monday evening.”  
  
“Then I guess I’ll call my mom and let her know I’m staying the night...” Bruce murmured back, a hint of suggestion in those words.  
  
“I insist,” Tony said with a grin, hands creeping slightly lower, though not enough to sacrifice his stability.  He _had_ said something about not being able to keep his hands off, hadn’t he?  
  
Bruce gave a low growl and sped off.


	17. Chapter 17

He’d been kicking himself for leaving the front door unlocked until the moment he _didn’t_ have to surrender either of his hands to fishing out his keys-- one which was pawing around inside Bruce’s half-unzipped jacket, the other which was stuffed into his back pocket to grope and squeeze.  They stumbled over the threshold, still in liplock; Bruce pushed the door shut with his foot and somehow they made it to the coat rack to kick off their shoes.  The big guy had been wearing his Christmas present early, Tony took note.

“You’re right,” he managed when his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, “Slip-ons have their benefits.”

“I told you...” Bruce muttered, mouth a few inches from his friend’s ear, searching his neck.

After quickly switching the lights on, Tony scanned the room for a place they could ‘land’, meanwhile yanking the zipper on Bruce’s jacket the rest of the way down with a little bend of the knee.  “Shut up and let me slip the rest off.  Unless you wanna trim the tree first,” he added jokingly upon noticing the boxes he’d left out in the front room.

Bruce gave a soft snort, but the commentary had focused him upon the aforementioned task.  Compared to outside where they’d come from, the house felt hot and a little humid.  He shucked his coat off the rest of the way onto the floor and took hold of the bottom of Tony’s hoodie and lifted.  The action nearly took the long-sleeved band tee with it and saved him some trouble.  Bruce’s eagerness to undress him surprised Tony somewhat, but his expression quickly rearranged into a smug smile.  He could recall several times it had gone the same way with Pepper.

Bruce tossed the hoodie over the back of the couch, eyes already searching for his next target.  He gave the other teen a backwards push onto the couch and crouched down to tug off his socks, as Tony undid the fly on his jeans.

The sound of the zipper drew Bruce’s eyes upward and he sacrificed a split second to push his glasses up before grabbing the legs of the denim, backing away only enough to remove them completely.  He ran his tongue over the inside of his lower lip at the sight of Tony’s bare legs spread out to either side... eager to nestle himself between them.  Two quick habitual folds-- matching the outseams and at the knees-- and he draped the jeans beside the hoodie before leaning in to reunite their mouths.

Tony fumbled with the buttons on Bruce’s dress shirt, glad that so far it had been fairly easy to unbutton.  At least, as easy as one could hope for while someone was simultaneously obscuring all vision of said buttons.  He tugged the hem of the shirt out of Bruce’s pants impatiently, leaving the shirt to hang open with a triumphant grunt and allowing his hands to explore.

“Ahh...” Bruce felt his skin shiver in response to the intimate touches.  He’d dreamt of having Tony’s hands on him, roving his body, but it hadn’t prepared him for the actual factual thing.  That ‘itching’ started up again... needing, craving more contact.  His hips gave a canting motion, pushing his friend a little deeper into the cushion.

Tony claimed Bruce’s mouth once again, hands dipping below the waist of his pants curiously.  With the belt still on, and Bruce’s movements distracting him in the most amazing way, his hands abandoned their mission to once again cup the other teen’s backside, and pull their captive arousals into closer proximity.  Plus it was a nice ass, but really, how many reasons did he need?

Tony got a rough grunt in return; Bruce was only encouraged by the guiding hands to thrust a little more firmly.  The fact that several layers of fabric still separated them however, wasn’t acceptable to either boy.

“Lose the belt,” Tony demanded stern-faced, “And if your underwear has anything keeping it on besides a waistband and a button, I am going to tear it to pieces.”

Bruce huffed, separating to stand and quickly set about doing as asked, tugging the leather strap free from its loops.

Tony brought himself to his feet as well, using this moment to take back some control, shoving Bruce backwards into his father’s armchair; he made quick work of Bruce’s pants, tugging the socks off along the way, wadding them up and tossing them aside in a much less orderly fashion than Bruce probably would’ve liked.  Tony’s hands rested at the hem of his band shirt as he stood,

“You wanna get this, or...?”  He blushed, in spite of the already heated situation.  “I mean, you’ve seen it already...”

Bruce licked his lips.  He understood why it would still be a point of uncertainty-- he didn’t know how many sexual situations Tony had been in (or with how many other people) in the past, but he was plenty aware of how... secretive the young man was about his procedure.  “And I’ve gotten everything else so far...” Bruce reasoned with a murmur.  He beckoned him over with a motion of his fingers, reaching out.  Tony stepped close enough for Bruce to hook his fingers into the cotton, and he began to lift it.  As soon as the teen’s head was free of the collar, he paused, leaving Tony’s arms temporarily trapped above his head.  Bruce leaned forward to paw a palm down the front of his friend’s torso, over his pectoral, across his ribs, and down the expanse of his stomach, appreciating every swell, dip and curve.  Tony tilted his head back and gave a little warble.  With a final tug, Bruce removed the shirt the rest of the way, casting it to the floor before urging the young man back into his lap.

Their closeness, combined with their state of almost-near undress caused Bruce’s brain to catch back up with the unfolding events.  He’d never participated in something so basic and primal before, almost to the point where he’d associated it with being a weakness or something wholly unnecessary.  At least in terms of enjoying another person’s company.

He’d always enjoyed Tony’s company.  But now he was appreciating it in a whole new way...

Bruce’s eyes caught on the long scar; he lifted his hand to tickle his fingertips along the dimpled flesh in the center of Tony’s chest admiringly, but also lustfully.

Tony let out a breath he’d forgotten he was holding, the feeling of those fingertips on his skin, tracing that place that only a handful of people had seen (or even knew about), ended up being far better than he’d imagined it would be, “Holy shit, Bruce.”

The other teen hummed pleasedly.  “Like it when I touch you there?” he conjectured, repeating the action, following the path of the cut.

Tony bit his lip and nodded.

Bruce got a little bolder; he leaned in further and opened his mouth to drag his tongue up the length of the scar, from solar plexis to collarbone.  The taste of Tony’s flesh intrigued him... he went back for more, his own warm breath fogging the lenses of his glasses somewhat.

“Fuuuck,” Tony moaned, Bruce’s ministrations sending him closer to the edge.  His back arched, pelvis searching for contact.

Bruce recognized the need and dropped a hand to slip it inside his friend’s boxers.  He gripped his erection and began to pump, laving his tongue over the spot a third and fourth time.  He could feel the heat pouring off the other’s body, and it excited him to be able to excite Tony so much.  Subconsciously, his hand sped up, urging the young man along.

“Oh God, Bruce, wait...!” Tony managed to cry out between pants and moans, catching the other teen’s attention with another hastily planted kiss.  It was too soon.

His hand slowed, but he wasn’t sure for what.

“You’re too efficient, buddy.  I would’ve been gone in another forty-five seconds.”

Bruce supplied a little squeeze to his shaft.  “Is that an estimate?”

Tony yelped out, twitching in response to Bruce’s hand, “It’s a certainty, if you don’t slow down.”  He pouted, “And you’re not even naked yet.”

“I can’t believe you’re complaining,” Bruce mumbled with an amused lift of an eyebrow.

“I am not complaining.  I want to enjoy this.  And preferably in my own bed, where there’s no chance of staining my dad’s armchair and having to answer really awkward questions.”

Bruce removed his hand and fixed the glasses that had slid partway down his nose.  “Alright,” he agreed.

Tony grinned, a mischievous glint appearing in his eye, “Well first we’d better get you up to speed.”  He motioned to the couch, “Lay down, head on the armrest.”

Bruce’s eyebrow quirked higher than it usually did.  Was this about to go where he thought it was?  If so...  His pulse quickened, hyper-aware and lower regions engorging.  Finding no reason to supply question or argument, he stood and pushed his boxers down, stepping out of them and moving to the indicated area.

“Comfy?” Tony asked, trying not to sound patronizing.  He flicked off his own underwear as well.

“That was the theory,” Bruce responded, adjusting his glasses.  He wiggled a bit, but found he was in fact reasonably comfortable, save for the growing ache of anticipation in his groin.  His hard-on bobbed against his abdomen.

Tony allowed himself to drink in the sight (he’d been too panicked to enjoy the view the last time Bruce had been in this same exact spot) before he lowered himself down between Bruce’s legs like Pepper had said, taking hold of his cock to stroke idly.

Bruce’s breath caught in his throat at that small amount of stimulation, and he swallowed roughly; he stared down at Tony’s mouth, trying to remember every once in a while to blink.  His erection gave a stiff pulse in his friend’s hand.

“So, this is as far as Pep got last time.  You wanna call her again, or should I wing it?”  It was an obvious joke, but he was reveling in Bruce’s reactions tonight.

The big guy gave a hard shudder.  Bruce knew he was being teased for what he had made Tony do several weeks ago, and that he probably ought to feel somewhat embarrassed or at least apologetic, but with Tony’s mouth as close as it currently was to his manhood... just inches away... close enough to feel each exhale of breath from the other boy’s nostrils, he couldn’t summon anything more complex than uncontrollable desire.  “You seemed to know what you were doing when I imagined this...” he tried to keep his teeth from gritting, and perhaps there was just a faint glow to his cheeks to have admitted that.  “It would be interesting to compare the two.”

That information was ‘interesting’ on its own.  “We’re both quick learners,” Tony grinned, still doing nothing but stroking gently, getting used to the length in his hands (he was rock hard himself), “I’m sure I’ll pick it up.”  Smirking, he curiously drug his tongue along the underside of the shaft and listened for a reaction.  That wasn’t bad at all, really.  He wasn’t sure why some girls complained so much.

His initial reaction was definitely the same.  Bruce felt his fingers spring to whatever was nearest, latching into the cushions underneath him, giving a small groan.

Tony wet his lips, noting with pride the reaction he’d elicited, though his dominant hand reached out to grab one of Bruce’s.  “Remember what I said about the cushions,” he tsked.

Bruce remembered, perhaps a little too well, but he managed to loosen his grip somewhat.  He wasn’t ready to commit his hands to Tony’s hair quite yet though.

Tony brought his hand back to hold Bruce’s manhood steady at the base of the shaft.  After one last practice lick, he wrapped his mouth around it, trying not to go down too far.  It was made slightly more difficult when Bruce rut upward.  At the same time Tony tried to remember what he used to tell Pepper back when they were still intimate, so he could use it here.  Relegating his breathing to his nose, he hollowed his cheeks and tried to swirl his tongue.  It was a lot of things to do at once, and Tony felt fairly clumsy attempting, especially with the growing numbness in his jaw.  The big guy seemed happy though, and that was gratification enough.

He registered in the back of his mind that he ought to send Pepper some flowers for doing this as much as she did when they were together.

It was hard for Bruce not to try and force the dream into actuality, hips lifting off the sofa and sinking that much deeper into the hot, wet mouth.  One little detail had definitely been absent from the fantasy, and that was the slight tickle of his friend’s facial hair coming into contact every so often.  Bruce shuddered, tentatively placing his hands on Tony’s shoulders, massaging gently.  “God, yeah, Tony...”

Tony hummed his excitement, and would have grinned if he wasn’t so determined not to use his teeth by mistake.  While not harmful, Tony found a little graze from teeth ruined good head, in his experience.  Once he’d grown accustomed to the length in his mouth, he tried to slowly take in more.  Surprised with himself, he kept going, until the furthest up he could look to was Bruce’s navel.

Bruce gasped and twitched with each progressively greater depth that Tony sank.  He moaned, fairly certain he was supposed to tell his friend to stop at some point, but unsure how far along he should let himself get.  He’d nearly gotten Tony to shoot his wad, and to be honest, he could feel his excitement peaking.  Repeatedly he drug his fingers through the other teen’s dark hair with a vacant elation.

Tony pulled away for just one second to ask, “You close?”

“Ugh... y-yeah...” he admitted shakily, noting the distinct coolness of the air on his wet skin.

“Hm,” was all Tony said before going back down, and reapplying everything he’d been doing, twofold, left hand reaching upwards to trace the contours of Bruce’s torso.

“T-Tony...!” Bruce gasped, digging his fingers in as he tried to hold back.  His eyes clamped shut, but it did little to shut out the stimuli.  “Shit... I’m not gonna l-last...” he hissed, tensing up, moments away.

Tony didn’t stop, but he did place his right hand over one of Bruce’s, a small reassurance that there was nothing to worry about.  That he wanted him to just let go.  Because he said so.

Bruce flipped his hand over to grasp Tony’s tightly.  He added a snap of his hips to the last three motions before finding a shuddering climax.

Tony swallowed the other’s seed, treating it with the same attitude as he did learning stick shift at age fourteen.  Ultimately easier, and best if learned as soon as physically possible.  It wasn’t an altogether uncomfortable taste, he noticed, simply different.  In fact, none of that had been uncomfortable, save for the awkwardness one would normally feel with a first experience. Tony already wanted to do it again, in spite of the slight aching in his jaw.  He withdrew.

Bruce slumped into the furniture with an after-groan of appreciation, mind almost completely blank.  He couldn’t believe that had just happened.  He’d gotten his first blowjob and it had been mind-blowing.  He was probably supposed to tell his friend ‘thanks’ or something, he really had no idea, but his brain wasn’t quite back to being able to formulate anything more intricate than a grunt yet anyway, so it was a moot point.

Tony hung back and just watched the big guy a moment.  He took Bruce’s motionlessness as a compliment, a wide grin deforming his lips.  Finally, he just couldn’t keep his hands to himself any longer.  “Fun fact,” Tony said as he drug his fingertips lightly but deliberately across Bruce’s ribs, as the boy lay vulnerable and over-sensitive in his afterglow, “This is a lot worse after you climax.”

The other teen managed a hazy mumble of protest, making only the most minimal attempts to squirm away from the teasing touch.  “God damn it, Tony...” he mumbled, the tickling rousing him gradually from his formerly lethargic state.  He swatted at the young man’s hands.

“Alright, I’ll stop,” Tony chuckled, looking to find another seat, “I gotta go finish myself off now.”

Bruce’s forehead creased before his eyelids fluttered back open.  He’d been close to getting Tony off before, and he was very much interested in finishing the job, given the chance to recover.  “Hold up,” he said as he sat up.  “What happened to ‘enjoying it’?”

“‘It’ looked like ‘it’ was about to fall asleep,” Tony said with a tweaked eyebrow.

If he hadn’t just experienced orgasm, he might have been annoyed to be referred to as an ‘it’.  Instead he just insisted.  “I just need a minute to recuperate.”  Bruce shook his head, forcing the fog in his head to disperse.  He’d gotten twelve hours of sleep-- he wasn’t going to let himself just pass out now and leave Tony hanging, though it would be Tony’s own fault for stopping him.

“A minute?” Tony chuckled, sitting back down beside his friend to absently stroke Bruce’s thigh, “What, do you only beat off once a year?”

“Figure of speech,” he grumbled, but he rose to standing.  “Your bedroom you said, right?” he confirmed.

Tony blushed, realizing he’d forgotten, but nodded, “Yeah.”

“Then c’mon,” Bruce said, slipping his hand down into the other boy’s and starting to lead the way, but Tony’s heels planted fast to the floor before they’d even taken a step beyond the couch.

“Listen, it’s fine-- I don’t even know why I mentioned it,” Tony said, trying not to blush deeper at the added contact.  This already had gone so much further than he’d expected.  He’d more than likely pushed Bruce far enough already, “It’s not a big deal, really.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow-- the mere fact that his friend was stressing how little of a deal it was spoke to the opposite.  “I don’t have to carry you again, do I?”

Tony stared back, blinking.  It would be just his luck that Bruce was as stubborn in this kind of situation as he would be in any other.  Though he wasn’t sure if that was such a bad thing.  He’d all but forgotten to respond, heat still surging through him.  The Hell was he so hesitant about?  “You gonna throw me in the pool again?” he smiled, an unspoken permission being granted, whether Tony realized it or not.

“After what you just did?  I don’t think so...” Bruce rumbled and he stepped towards the other teen to lean down and grab him by the backs of the thighs.  With a heft, he lifted him up from the ground, and Tony’s legs wound cooperatively around his midsection, hooking his ankles behind his back.  The positioning alone quickly awoke his passionate side and Bruce stole another smoldering kiss from his friend’s lips.

Tony reciprocated eagerly, head tilting to the side to keep their noses from bumping.  He was aware his arousal still hadn’t lessened since Bruce had last touched it, hot and solid, pressed between their two torsos, and God he was thankful the big guy was as stubborn as he was.

A couple needy rocks from Tony’s hips was all the more motivation Bruce needed to hurry them to said bedroom, delaying only a second to flip the lightswitch so he wouldn’t kill them both on the way over to the bed considering the state of his friend’s land-mine-esque floor.  He accidentally kicked a stack of books on his way, knocking them over, but he didn’t pay it any mind.

Tony chuckled in between pants, “I wanted to find something decent to wear when you came over...  Guess I’m a little too picky?”

“Considering you’re not even wearing anything now?” Bruce responded, raking his fingers up the other’s back with a little grin.

“I’ll answer the door for you like this next time,” Tony retorted, claiming Bruce’s lips for just a moment before adding his afterthought, “Can’t have you be the only one.”

“Mm...” Bruce mumbled, making it obvious he was more focused on keeping Tony’s lips occupied than the words coming out of his mouth.  He flopped Tony down onto the mattress, staying atop him.  His arousal surged, and for more than one reason.  For starters, he had Tony pinned beneath him, and for another, he had Tony pinned to his own bed-- the place he slept every night... from where Tony sometimes stayed up, texting him until he fell asleep...  Really, he'd been in this bed with Tony all along, it just wasn't metaphorical now.  But it was also thanks in large part to how obviously worked up Tony was, and Bruce rolled his hips down on him, searching for friction.

“Ugh... fuck, Bruce...” Tony’s voice was a breathy whisper as he rolled his hips in response, trying to match the other’s movements.

He hummed, feeling Tony’s arms cinch tighter around his neck and shoulders.  He moved to place his mouth beside the other teen’s ear, much the way Tony had done to him in the dream.  “You’re too quiet.”  He ran a hand down the front of his chest, thumb scraping along the scar again before reaching lower to grasp his weeping prick.  “I want you to moan for me...”

Tony didn’t disappoint, mewling lightly from the moment the other had traced his scar, and graduating into a throaty moan the instant the hand had lowered to grab his arousal, not daring to bite his lip or muffle his voice in any other way.  Bruce wanted to hear him, and Tony would oblige him gladly.

“Jesus, Bruce... don’t stop.  F-fuck yeah!” Tony managed.

He wasn’t stopping, but the sounds the other had been making had brought Bruce back to full stiffness.  He’d wanted to get Tony off before, but that desire had only grown, and he could feel his friend’s body starting to twitch beneath him.

“Fuck!  Just keep it up...  Please...”

Bruce nodded, that he could do.  He pumped his hand faster, finding his rationality slipping further and further into the background as he watched his friend writhe beneath him... chest rising and falling in labored breath as he got closer and closer to his finish.

The sensations grew exponentially, Tony’s nerve endings going haywire, his heartbeat pounding hard and fast.  He clawed at his sheets as if they were the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.  He was teetering on the edge, a shaking, moaning, twisting mess waiting for that one last straw to push him into climax.  Glancing up at Bruce through half-lidded eyes, he saw them... soft, pursed in concentration, and inviting him in...

“Kiss me,” Tony pleaded.

He was too absorbed in his task to register the request.  “Huh?”

“I said,” Tony ground out, not wanting to repeat himself again, “Fucking kiss me.”

Without another second’s hesitation, Bruce dropped down to seal their lips roughly.  Tony moaned out against them as he finally hit his peak, hips jerking as he came.  Some of the warm jism landed on his stomach, the rest dribbling down the big guy’s hand.  Tony rattled out a breath, relief pounding through his temples and groin.

Bruce started to lift away; Tony made a grab for his shoulders, “I didn’t say you could stop...”

Bruce took the hint and lowered onto his elbows so he could meld their mouths with more ease.  Tony was still humming with the after-effects of pleasure, letting his tongue glide along the thick upper lip.  Tony couldn’t believe all that had just happened, and if this was all just some super-vivid dream, he wanted to make this kiss _last_.

A hard poke on his inner thigh reminded him they weren’t quite done here...  He let their mouths separate with a pop.

“Roll over...” Bruce instructed, lifting up off him.

Tony stared back, confused, “Huh?”

“You heard me, roll over,” Bruce made the motion with his forefinger extended, looking lustful and a touch impatient, like if the other teen didn’t get moving quickly, he’d do it for him.

Tony wasn’t sure whether Bruce was thinking what _he_ was thinking, or if he was even ready to comply with what he thought Bruce might be thinking, but in the post coital afterglow, he really didn’t have it in him to dispute much of anything. He rolled over.

Bruce didn’t waste any time getting back down on top of his prone friend, straddling him; his teeth found a soft place on Tony’s neck as he let his erection settle in the cleft of his ass.  He started with a slow, almost testing roll of his hips, grinding himself down into the other’s skin.  “God yeah, Tony...” he grit out.

For just a second Tony’s entire body tensed, relaxing only when he realized how excited his friend actually was, and all for him. He trusted Bruce with his life, among other things too numerous to list, but a few stray inhibitions still lingered. Strangely, the situation both scared and excited him, and he wasn’t sure which emotion was stronger at the moment. Swallowing, he spoke, but couldn’t quite bring himself to finish his question,

“Hey big guy... are you gonna...?”

The half a question registered slowly.  “Going to what?” Bruce asked, not breaking stride.

Tony mumbled his response into his arm, almost too afraid to say it at all.  Almost as if saying it out loud would make Bruce say 'No, not really, but now it sounds like a great idea!'.  He didn’t want to disappoint his friend (were they even supposed to be thinking in friend terms anymore?), but he was sure that anyone in his position for the first time would have similar reservations.

Bruce didn’t hear the answer clearly, and it nagged him.  After all, the last thing he wanted was to make Tony uncomfortable.  Bruce gave a slow exhale, slowing his motion to a reluctant halt.  “Going to what?” he asked again.

Tony closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose.  Was Bruce on some sort of humiliation kick and looking to hear Tony say it out loud?

“Areyougonnafuckme?” he said all at once, more of a whine than a question.

Both of Bruce’s eyebrows lifted, he almost stuttered.  “I w-wasn’t planning...”  Flustered, he started over.  “Did you... did you _want_ me to?”  It felt like he was holding his breath, waiting for an answer.

Tony exhaled, instantly regretting it for what it might have implied.  He’d jumped to conclusions again, “I...”   _Did_ he want him to?  Sure he’d been scared, but a little apprehension was normal, right?

“I don’t know.  Maybe?”  He blushed, not sure what exactly he wanted, “I guess we’re not exactly sure what we’re doing, huh?”  Tony paused, wondering if he’d said that wrong, or anything before that.  He didn’t want to disappoint the big guy, not now, “Do you want to?  Because if you want to then I guess--”

Bruce leaned up and urged Tony to turn his head to the side, so he could silence him with a hard kiss.  “Let’s take it slow.  I don’t think either of us are ready...” he murmured.

Tony took the message as sincerely as the kiss that came before it, nodding.  He was relieved that Bruce was comfortable with waiting until another time, and it was reassuring for him to hear Bruce more or less confirm that there would _be_ another time.

“Waiting on you, then,” Tony teased, wincing when his only response was a playful whack to the back of the head.  “Fine, fine.  Take your time.”

\--

The two of them lie on their backs side by side, sated and silent.  Though of the two, Tony’s silence was bound to be more temporary.  Bruce acknowledged this; even a romp in the sack was unlikely to be enough to keep his friend quiet for long.  Not that he minded.  He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t feel a deeper connection to the boy, after what they had just done.  He wasn’t entirely 100% sure what it was composed of-- obviously there was an increased physicality that hadn’t been there prior, but part of it felt... emotional too.  Bruce tried to stop over-analyzing and committed his attention to admiring the copy-paper starscape above them.

“Man, that was so good...” Tony murmured throatily.

There it was.  Bruce felt a smile pull his lips outward.

A question followed.  “Bruce, are you really a virgin?”

The inquiry startled the young man a bit; he glanced at Tony uncertainly, fidgeting where he lay.  He gave several quick swipes of his tongue over his lip before replying.  “Why do you ask?” Bruce failed to answer the question, but he couldn’t help but be curious as to why the other teen was asking.

“Well either this was beginner’s luck, or you were a whore in a past life,” Tony commented, throwing him a glance from where he had his head propped neatly atop his folded arms.

Bruce snorted at the commentary.  Long, long ago Tony had asked this question, back when they used to still be at odds with one another.  But he supposed there wasn’t any good excuse not to keep the subject off the table now, considering what they’d just done.  “Yeah, I am,” he finally admitted aloud, pursing his lips somewhat.  Though if he still could consider himself seemed questionable in his mind now...

_‘I’m his first...’_

The answer excited Tony because it meant there was so much for him to show Bruce, for them to do together.  “Correction; yeah, you were.”  He rolled over to lean out over Bruce-- whose face rearranged with surprise at the sudden proximity-- “Which means I want to know everything that turns you on... gets you off...” he breathed out huskily, leaning close enough to let the words dance on the other teen’s lips, “I want to know, so I can do it even better.”

Bruce chuckled.  Tony Stark, always trying to do the best and outdo the rest.  He gave it some consideration, studying the face currently in his own.  He was drawn, as he always was, immediately to the other’s brown eyes.  He tried to remember, looking into them now, when exactly it first was that he noticed just how deep they were, how wide they could get, like windows that literally opened into Tony’s consciousness and revealed his every emotion.  Currently they were half-lidded with a leftover lust, but deeper in they were curious and excited, waiting for an answer.  Bruce was almost certain it wasn’t what the other boy was looking for, but he spoke it nonetheless, “Well, for one, your eyes.”

Tony chuckled, perhaps a bit taken aback, but he responded with lightning quickness,  “I’ll just stop blinking, then.”

The way Tony responded fed right into a second thing Bruce liked.  “For another, your smile and the way you laugh...”

The teen’s smirk widened, predictably.  “Same for you,” he said as he rolled back over onto his back.

“And I hate to admit it, but the cocky-attitude is... cute,” Bruce selected carefully, readjusting his spectacles.

Tony grinned triumphantly for a moment before responding as honestly as he could.  “God, it’d be easier to make a list of things I _don’t_ like about you.”  He scoffed.

Bruce tipped his head to the side with slight bafflement.  Nervousness gradually began to seep in around it.  Tonight had only been about physical attraction, hadn’t it?  Bruce found himself suddenly questioning.  That he found Tony attractive, and Tony found him attractive, and they had acted upon a mutual desire to exhibit said attraction?  Bruce wet his lips.

Tony noticed the mood had shifted after he’d spoken, and he felt the urge to backpedal creeping up his spine. “Don’t read into it; it’s only sex,” he scoffed, playing deflective.  It was an easier dodge if he tried to peg his insecurities on Bruce.  He gestured dismissively.  “I’m just glad it’s not off-limits anymore.”

“Good, yeah,” Bruce answered shortly, which came out harsher than he meant it to.  He chastised himself for having presumed any differently.  Tony had a strongly sexual nature and it had simply manifested in an unexpected way.  It wasn’t like it changed their relationship any, and he didn’t want to give his friend the wrong idea.

Bruce hadn’t meant to kill the conversation, but it was clear he had.  He really needed to get his mind off things or things were just going to get more and more awkward; he sat up and cleared his throat.  “I’ll ah... be right back,” he said, standing to head out of the room.  He chanced a glance back at Tony before making himself scarce, moving out to the living room.  Their clothes were scattered everywhere, littered across the furniture and the floor, telling of the frenzy they’d been in at the time-- it was almost embarrassing now, after-the-fact and in a more rational frame of mind.  They’d really been all over one another.  Bruce licked his lips again, slowly, deliberately, his need for nicotine rising.  It didn’t take too much searching to locate his bomber jacket lying on the floor and he bent down to pick it up quickly, patting down the pockets.

Meanwhile, back in his room, Tony was trying not to blow the sudden departure out of proportion,

_‘Did I scare him away? No. Maybe he just needed to get a drink. It’s not like Bruce to just up and run off without stating a reason. Then again, pretty much everything after cussing me out at the levee hasn’t been like Bruce. Oh fuck...’_

With pack and matches in hand, Bruce returned to Tony’s room, the sound of his approaching footsteps more than enough to calm his friend’s worries.  Bruce knew Tony was liable to ask questions, but he was prepared to answer them, already plucking the second to last stick from the box as he sat back down on the bed and propped himself on the headboard.

“Welcome ba--” Tony paused mid sentence at the sight of a familiar rectangular box in his friend’s hand.  His eyes widened, then narrowed, the obvious question stuck in the back of his throat being replaced with a strict warning, “Don’t you dare.”

A snappish answer formed on his lips, likely due to the craving he was now harboring and the implication he couldn’t attend to said craving.  “Why not?”  Tony had been smoking in the house before.

“Febreeze and an ashtray.  Or a cereal bowl.  Or an empty ramen cup.  Earth-shattering experience or not, if you ash on my bed, I _will_ make you eat it.”

Bruce glanced about and had only to lean over to grab an errant dish that had been left on Tony’s cluttered floor who knew how many days ago.  “That’s one out of two; I don’t know where the Febreeze is.”

“It’s like you’ve never lived in a house before,” Tony hopped off of the bed, rolling his eyes and padding his way over to the connected bathroom.  He turned around for a brief second to call back to Bruce before snatching a flowery looking aerosol can off of the toilet tank (close enough), “Just fetch my pack and my lighter.  And make me a sandwich while you’re up.  Thanks.”

Bruce snorted.  “You’re already up; get them yourself.”  He struck a match on the side of the box and lit up, unwilling to wait any longer.

“Yeah, I probably should before you steal them too,” Tony raised an eyebrow at his friend as he returned to the bedroom, spray can in hand.

Already after a drag or two he was feeling calmer.  “Sorry,” Bruce apologized.  He did feel sort of bad for running off with them and hiding that he’d been doing it all this time.  It just wasn’t something he wanted Tony to know... that he’d given in to temptation and allowed himself to make it into a habit.  He pulled the cigarette away from his mouth to hug his arms, averting his eyes from the other teen’s gaze.  “I just... they were helping me keep calm at home.”  He put it back between his lips.

Tony snorted, leaning down to pluck the filter from between his friend’s lips and taking a short puff.  He let the smoke swirl around in his lungs before blowing it back at his friend, “These things are bad for you.”  He took another short puff, teasing, “Really bad for you.”

“You don’t say,” Bruce issued somewhere between derisively and sarcastically, a low growl in the back of his throat.  His nostrils flared to dispel the smoke that had been blown at him and his eyes narrowed down on his stolen vice that was currently being rolled around in his friend’s mouth-- he wasn’t sure which he wanted more.

Tony nodded, “In fact,” he held the cig out for his companion-- it was promptly snatched-- “the idea of you smoking has me so strung out, I need to go light up.”  He headed out towards the living room, intent on finding his pack, but stopped at his doorway, “I hope you know you’re giving us both cancer, Bruce.  How many lives will it take?”

His eyes rolled.  He diverted the conversation.  “Shut up.  I’m still angry at you, you know.”

“What did I do this time?” Tony groaned.

“The levee.  The alcohol.  I thought we were past this.”  Bruce tapped the ash onto the plate, pausing thoughtfully at his own phrasing... ‘we’, as if it were a shared problem between the two of them, rather than just something Tony needed to solve alone.

Tony’s mouth slowly drew into a smirk, laughter welling up in his gut at the realization of what Bruce had thought he’d seen.  The big guy looked none too appreciative.  When his cackles subsided, he shook his head, “Oh you poor thing.  We’ll talk when I get back.”

And with that Tony stepped back out the doorway to retrieve his smokes.  When he returned through the doorway, he made it a point to mimic the standard field sobriety test walk, heel-to-toe in a straight line, before pausing at the foot of the bed to touch his nose with the index finger of each hand.

“Not bad, for, what? Two dozen bargain beers?” Tony grinned, “Not to mention the sex.  Imagine how I fuck _sober_.”

"I wasn't insinuating that you were drunk.  You _obviously_ weren't drunk when I got there,” Bruce said somewhat testily, but his friend’s antics did take a little of the edge off the situation. 

“I kept to my end of the deal,” Tony protested.  “I had one sip of the first beer and I dumped the rest out _because_ of our deal.”

He didn’t have any way of validating the claim, but he trusted his friend to be telling him the truth.  If Tony said he hadn’t been drinking, he hadn’t been drinking, no matter how close he had been to doing so.  Not that he wasn’t still a little angry Tony had come so close to caving.  Then again, he couldn’t really talk at the present...  Bruce nodded pensively as he let out a breathful of smoke.  “Sorry I doubted you.”

“It’s fine.  I know I said I’d come to you first with my problems, but, uh...” Tony responded, eyes downcast.

Bruce felt a chuckle rise in his chest at that.  “Yeah,” he said.  It was fairly understandable why Tony hadn’t.  Not that he regretted what had occurred between them as a result...  Bruce studied the other teen still standing a distance away at the foot of the bed in the nude; he trained his eyes up and down him, eating up the view as he puffed methodically.  “Come here,” he urged.

Tony smirked, climbing up over the foot of the bed, “The Hell are you up to now?”

Bruce set his smoldering cigarette on the make-shift ashtray, eyes lighting up with greater and greater interest the nearer Tony drew.  As soon as the other teen was within reach, he hooked his hand around the back of his neck and tugged him into a rough kiss, which was eagerly reciprocated.

“Is this gonna be a thing now?” Tony asked with a grin upon pulling away.

Bruce ran a hand down one of Tony’s sides, growing overprotective and aroused again all at once.  “Which part?” he asked, following the other so their lips were never too far apart, “Because if I find you down at that levee again, I’m going to have to fuck some sense into you.”

“ _At_ the levee?” Tony’s eyebrows raised, the gesture leaving Bruce to question whether he was interested, or just in a mood to challenge everything he said-- either, or both was likely.

Bruce shoved him off to the side with the most imperceivable of smiles and went back to his cigarette.  “I’ll make you a sandwich once I’m done if you really want.”

“Sounds good,” Tony grinned, stomach agreeing wholeheartedly.  “Oh, wait--” he grabbed his friend by the chin.  He held his face steady so he could light his cigarette off of Bruce’s nearly spent one, allowing their gazes to connect heatedly throughout the exchange.  Hey, now that he knew his eyes were a bit of a kink for the big guy, might as well make use of it, right?  He could see his own reflection in Bruce’s glasses, momentarily glimpsing the view he was giving his friend.  Bruce wasn’t moving a muscle, entranced.

Once he was lit, Tony pulled away.  “They call that butt-sex, by the way,” he added, leaning back against the headboard and taking a long drag.

Bruce’s eyes unglassed and he snorted his amusement.  “Guess that’s off the to-do list.”  Briefly he savored the moment that had just passed between them.  Then he looked to Tony, who was contentedly smoking away.  It only took him a moment to make the decision.  Bruce reached over and plucked Tony's pack of cigarettes out of his hand, swapping it for his own.  "Thanks, by the way," he spoke, flipping it open to see that there were twelve left in the pack.

Tony picked up on the implications of what Bruce had just done.  And his response, though meant to sound aloof, couldn’t help but have some affection and concern bleed into it in spite of himself.  “Take it easy, alright?”

Bruce frowned but didn’t say anything, just nodding.

“You’re sleeping here tonight.” Tony made it clear that it wasn’t a question, “You called your mom, right?”

Bruce looked at him slightly askance.  “I haven’t yet; we haven’t been apart more than thirty seconds since we got here.”  He checked his wristwatch. 7:15 PM.  He’d better get on it.  Twisting out the end of his cigarette on the plate, he stood, stretched and went in search of his pants.

Tony let out a yawn, “After you finish, and tell her I said hi, is it okay if we forget the sandwich and just turn in?  We can do a big breakfast tomorrow, or lunch or whatever, and then trim the tree like we were planning to.”

Bruce bit his lower lip; he hated to rain on Tony’s parade, but he had a prior engagement.  “Betty,” he reminded.

“Oh shit, right,” Tony responded.  He threw around the idea in his head before proposing it, “You think she’d like to come over here and help?  I mean, after we get dressed and stuff.”

“ _She_ might,” Bruce put emphasis on the word; it was a way of saying he’d envisioned them doing it just the two of them.  Though the fact that Tony was suddenly ‘okay’ with getting together with her when before he’d declined was not lost on Bruce.  “Let’s just do it Monday.  I promise I won’t sleep in again,” he said wryly.

“That works,” Tony replied, taking a long drag before ashing onto the plate, “Sorry if I’ve been kind of sketchy about her lately.  I thought you were gonna ask her out, or something.”

Bruce felt an eyebrow lift, pausing in the doorway as he parsed through that assumption.  It had been one of his potential concerns in getting back in touch with Betty-- he’d cut off their friendship when she’d expressed romantic interest in him... he had been worried she might _still_ be interested in him in that way.  Thankfully, it wasn’t the case; she was even dating a guy now, which set him at ease.  He’d been glad to know she’d found someone who could provide for her emotionally, who could love her the way she deserved to be loved back.  A pang shot through him but he didn’t let it show.

“What?” Tony asked, noticing Bruce had come to a complete halt.

“You actually thought Betty and I were an item?” he clarified, pairing his forefinger and middle finger together as if to signify it.

“You said you liked her.  How was I supposed to guess that you were too dumb to know what I meant?  Plus you made that ‘third wheel’ joke,” Tony added with a roll of his eyes, but the nerves were obvious, “Not that Tony Stark is ever the third wheel, but still.”

“You _would’ve_ been the third wheel to a plan that had originally been between Betty and I,” Bruce couldn’t let the technicality pass by unaddressed.  He crossed his arms.  It would be like Tony to get jealous of Betty, simply because he’d been spending time with her occasionally instead of him.  “You don’t have to worry; we’ve never been anything more than friends.”

“I know that _now_.  But keep in mind that knowledge doesn’t apply retroactively,” Tony held up an index finger correctively.  “So considering how I felt--” he stopped short, though not short enough to erase the tell.  He decided to plow on as normal, and hopefully make the word seem less significant, “You’re smart enough to understand why I’d feel...”

“Threatened?” Bruce finished for him, somewhat amused.  A smirk formed as he looked at him over the ridge of his glasses.

“Shut up,” Tony shot back with a pout, “But yeah... uh... that.”

“Did you think Betty and I were fucking too?”  He couldn’t help but chuckle after saying it.

“Fuck no. I didn’t think you even knew how.” _‘Scratch that,’_ his brain added.  “But I figured it would’ve been awkward to have you dating her and then have me off on the sidelines spending less and less and less time with you, and...” Tony sighed, “and what with all that other stuff going on in my head that you didn’t know about, it just made things complicated.”

Tony had clearly been stressing over this pretty hard.  No wonder he’d been such a mess.  Bruce’s lips drew into a line; this conversation was causing him to verge on the need for another cigarette.  “Well, it’s not complicated.  She and I aren’t dating, and you and I...” his mouth hesitated open briefly, “we had sex.”  That was all there was to it.  That’s what Tony had said himself.

“Okay, yeah.  I was just worried that me li-- being attracted to you would’ve made things awkward, especially if you were dating Betty.  Which you’re not,” Tony nodded tersely, taking another drag, just as much to calm him down as to plug his mouth up before he said anything incriminating.

The stutter made Bruce wonder a bit, but he dismissed it.  “I’m going to go phone my mom now.  And I _am_ making you a sandwich,” he insisted.  “You were out in the cold for who knows how long and we never got dinner.”  He departed.

_‘Sexually dominant, socially submissive. Go figure.’_ Tony thought with a chortle.  He didn’t dare say it out loud.  Though now he was left to his own thoughts, and he couldn’t do much except smoke and think about how this was what he’d wanted, but it felt like it wasn’t enough.

_‘I really am selfish...’_ he thought bitterly.

Though Bruce had never said he _wasn’t_ interested, and he _had_ just dismissed the idea of any romantic involvement with Betty.  That was good news.  It meant no direct competition.  Sure, it left him devoid of any opportunity to flex his metaphorical muscles, but after a night like tonight, he should win by forfeit if he played his cards right.  Yeah.  He could do this.  He’d already managed to seduce him.  Okay so... not exactly seduce, but it was progress.  Either way, Tony could make Bruce fall for him.  He’d done it to almost every bangable girl in Westmore High, aside from Natasha, but she had that whole anti-misogynist thing going on.  Plus Clint already had her dick-whipped.  But while most of those other girls had been won over without even trying, Bruce would require more than a little effort.  He smirked to himself.  Challenge accepted.

The phone call didn’t take too long-- he’d had to give a false explanation to his mom that the decorating had taken longer than either of them thought so now he was just going to stay the night.  Of course she was perfectly fine with it.  After saying goodnight, he put on his shirt and boxers and rerouted towards the kitchen to scrounge through the Stark fridge.  He found a tupperware with some ham he recognized from a week ago when his mother had sent leftovers back with Tony.  That would work.  He found bread, cheese and condiments and within the next couple minutes he was headed back to his friend’s room, plate in hand.

“Here you go,” he held the sandwich out Tony’s way.  “Take it before I eat it myself.  And Mom says ‘hi’ back.”

“Eating in my bed... gosh, it’s like you think I’m some kind of slob,” Tony retorted in mock-offense, but took the sandwich anyways, taking a big bite.

Bruce waited until Tony’s mouth was too full to facilitate response before he answered.  “Wonder what gave me that idea...” he said pointedly as he put his hands on his hips; he glanced at the clutter to either side of him.  “Think I could borrow a shirt and boxers?  I don’t really want to sleep in my clothes.”  Furthermore he probably ought to try and get up early enough to go back to his place to shower up and change before meeting Betty at bookclub.

“I know how you feel...” Tony started sympathetically, taking another bite and talking through it, “I couldn’t even stand being awake in them.”

Bruce just gave him a glare.

“Alright alright.” Tony surrendered, “I’m pretty sure most of my bed shirts would fit you.”  He sighed, hopping off the bed and padding over to his dresser.  In spite of always calling Bruce ‘Big Guy’, they were actually pretty near the same size, Tony being less than a year older than him.  The real difference wasn’t in height (Tony had half an inch on him there), but in general stockiness; Bruce was stouter where he was a bit gangly.  Bruce’s personality was what had really made and kept the nickname, though.

“You didn’t have to get up,” Bruce acknowledged as he was handed a shirt, “but thanks.”  He shrugged his button-up back off his shoulders to pull the tee on over his head.  It was only once he had it on that he looked down to see the design now prominently displayed on his front-- it had a human heart over his left breast, all the arteries and veins stemming from the organ squared off into circuitry paneling.  “Tell me this doesn’t come with matching underwear.”

Tony chuckled and tossed him a pair of boxers, thankfully with nothing obscene printed on them.  “I have a periodic table shirt somewhere in here, but I probably shouldn’t give you more reason to harp on about how much of a dork I am.”

“Secretly are,” Bruce smiled.

“Yeah, that.  Which means that because of you I have to dig for a plain tee,” Tony grumbled as he rummaged through the drawer.  His eyes passed over a Black Sabbath tee and he instantly changed his mind. “Hello there.  Forgot I had you,” he said, holding it up as if it were a baby or a small puppy before pulling it on, and stepping into a pair of his own boxers.

Bruce felt himself gradually relaxing back into their typical friendly back-and-forth, almost as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened between them that evening.  He ran his tongue over the outside of his teeth.  “Mind if I use your toothbrush too?”

Tony chose to answer with an incredulous stare, lingering for a full five seconds before saying, “I sucked your dick, Bruce.  What do you think?”

“It’s common courtesy,” he stated flatly.

“If it’s so common, then why did _you_ only use your hand?” Tony teased, purposely misinterpreting the statement.

Bruce gave him a smack on the head.  “I’ll take that as a ‘no, you don’t mind’.”

Tony rubbed his head where Bruce had struck, “Good.  That means you’re learning.”


	18. Chapter 18

When Bruce awoke, he found himself lying on his back, a weight atop of his right half.  He registered why slowly.  Tony had snuggled up to him at some point during the night, and was now breathing down his neck in slumber.  One of his legs was also draped over Bruce’s.  To wake up in such a configuration was far from unusual for them anymore-- it had only happened half a dozen times-- but as Tony had so blatantly put, sexual conduct wasn’t ‘off-limits’ anymore.

Thanks to memories of the night before, their current proximity, and the fact that it was morning and morning always brought such things, Bruce felt interest stirring.  He lifted his left arm from the mattress to check the time on his wrist-- 7:50 AM.  Book club was at ten.  He wet his lips decisively.

“Tony,” he nudged his sleeping friend.  “Tony, wake up.”

Tony murmured sleepily, but didn’t show any signs of waking.

“ _Tony_ ,” he tried a little more forcefully this time, succeeding only in rolling his bed mate off of him and sprawling onto his back. Luckily, he was still on the bed, but only thanks to its size.  Bruce sighed through his nose.  “I swear, you are the heaviest sleeper,” he grumbled.  His eyes scanned across the other boy’s form, noticing a bulge in the sheets and undeterred, he yanked them off. Tony writhed for just a second, likely due to the sudden loss of cover.  The house was nicely heated, and his body seemed to adjust fairly quickly to the change in temperature.  His arousal was apparent, and had obviously made short work of the single button closing the fly of his boxers.

“You’re not going to wake up, are you?” Bruce asked, propping himself up.  He grabbed his spectacles from the nightstand and put them on his nose.

Tony’s response was, as expected, nothing but a quiet snore that ended with an unconscious smacking of lips.

“Fine,” Bruce settled, resigned that if he wanted to do this, he’d have to just get this started on his own.  He reached over with his left hand to guide his friend’s manhood the rest of the way out of the slit in his boxer shorts, supplying a slow stroke and waiting for any reaction it might have.

Tony’s left foot twitched slightly, toes curling under the sheets.

Bruce watched with bated interest, the subtle motion causing his curiosity to grow.  He sat up the rest of the way so he could change how he was oriented, placing his head level with the other teen’s crotch.  He took a hold of the stiff organ with his dominant hand, eyes narrowing down on it almost studiously.  He’d learned last night that Tony was uncut, but no opportunity had presented itself such that he could simply _observe_.  Carefully, now no longer wanting to wake his friend, Bruce slid his fingers down the shaft with just enough pressure to urge the covering skin to unfurl along the contour of the glans until it was fully exposed.

The next breath to leave Tony’s parted lips was slightly shuddered, but it was obvious his sleep remained undisturbed.

“Sure you don’t want to wake up?” Bruce asked tauntingly.  He took his thumb and traced it over the excess flesh, rubbing where it came to a junction at the frenulum.  He followed the swollen column that ran the length of the back before wrapping his fingers around the base and supplying a squeeze.

“Nn...”

The sound encouraged Bruce to move his hand up and back down again in a fluid stroke, seeking something louder or longer.  He took his other hand and ghosted it across his balls through the cotton fabric.

Tony let out another groan, coiling, hips lifting just slightly.  His right hand drifted down, but stopped to rest on his chest, fingers just a centimeter away from that scar; as far as Bruce knew, he was the only one to touch him there except the doctors who had stitched him up and Tony himself.  Bruce felt a growl rise in the back of his throat at the sight, excited to be eliciting such a response while his friend remained blissfully unconscious.  He couldn’t help himself, grip tightening before he took the other into his mouth.

If he’d been able to look, he would’ve seen Tony’s lower lip quiver before getting sucked in to be nibbled on.  He did, however, hear Tony exhale through his nose before mewling just a moment later.  He sucked, dragging the flat of his tongue over the head, making sure to move his hand upon the portion of skin his mouth hadn’t reached yet.

“Ah...” Tony’s fingers fisted the bedliner, his feet readjusting their positions so he could lift his hips to better enjoy that moist heat his sleepy mind was just beginning to recognize.

Bruce wondered how much further along this would go before his friend finally came to.   _If_ he ever came to.  Regardless, he pushed himself to go a little deeper and slid his other hand along the inside of Tony’s thigh.  He found a soft spot, poising his finger and thumb and supplied a pinch.

Tony’s face scrunched up in displeasure for a fleeting moment, his leg flinching weakly away from the source of discomfort.  Even so, it had done the trick, his eyes fluttering open no less than two seconds later.  “Bruce? What are you... Nevermind.”  He stopped himself mid-mumble, not wanting to experience deja vu so soon upon waking.  After a brief moment of almost drifting back to sleep, he opened his eyes once again, raising a surprised eyebrow and half-slurring, half-moaning a disbelieving, “You’re sucking me off.”.

Bruce lifted so he could vocalize.  “Waking you up,” he corrected, not glancing away from his task.

“Oh.”  Tony blinked, “Good morning.”  He groaned, trying to stretch his limbs out without disturbing Bruce’s work.

Bruce chuckled.  “Yeah, good morning.”  He dropped back down.

“Oh great.  I thought you meant you were gonna stop--” Tony broke his sentence to let out a big yawn, “...when I woke up.”

Bruce added another pinch that spoke _‘Still can.’_

“Ow.  You, sir, are very mean,” Tony attempted to glare through half-lidded eyes.

Bruce just hummed in response before hollowing his cheeks to create suction upon the organ.  Nothing was going to get Tony to shut up other than over-riding his speech center with pleasure.  His fingers tickled up and down his legs.

“Aaaah... Oh my god...” Tony moaned, the sensation doubling in intensity now that he was conscious for it, “Can I keep you?  Please?  You can be my new alarm clock.”

A perceivable snort issued from Bruce’s nose.  He bobbed his head up and down as he brought a hand back up to cup the other’s testicles and fondle.  He could feel them constrict in his palm, and a twitch from the length delivered a smattering of pre-cum from the tip.

Tony pressed his luck, threading the fingers of his dominant hand through Bruce’s curls, “Would you like that?  Five days a week, right before school?”  His voice had adopted a huskier tone, “Share a shower?  For water conservation, of course.”

Bruce let his mouth pop away.  “I think you might be reading into this...” he said, giving his friend an accusing stare.

“Why would you stop?” Tony groaned, “It’s not like I’d seriously follow up on any of that.”  He scoffed, rolling his eyes.  He guided Bruce’s head back between his legs, “Especially if the human alarm clock stops blowing me when I try to talk dirty to it.”

Bruce cleared his throat, but didn’t resume, obviously less than amused.

“Okay, next time something sexual is happening and I ask something and you think it’d turn you on,” Tony paused, checking to see if Bruce was still with him, “...outside of any sort of realistic, social, societal, physical, medical, ethical, or other equally annoying constraint, just say something back.  Or if there’s nothing to say, just agree or nod.  That’s dirty talk.  Logic kills boners, fantasy nurtures them.  You get it?” Tony couldn’t believe he was explaining the fundamentals of bedroom speech to his best friend, in the middle of a sexual encounter, at what was probably no later than eight in the morning.

Bruce wet his lips; there was probably only one way to get across that he did ‘get it’, and that was to do so himself.  He mulled it over in his head as he drew back onto his haunches so he could lean over his friend.  "So if I said, from this point forward, that anytime I so much as _thought_ about those eyes of yours--" He grabbed Tony by the jaw, tipping it upward to stare into his widening pupils-- "I would expect you to get down on your knees and suck me off without so much as batting a _single_ eyelash from the moment you start--" his dick pulsed against Tony's side, and he drug his fingers down the center of his neck-- "to when my cum is sliding down your throat, _that_ would be a reasonable request?"  He paused and smiled subtly.  "Or reasonable in terms of 'dirty talk' at least," he shrugged, drawing back again.

Tony’s lips curled into a devilish smirk, “You _are_ a fast learner.” 

Bruce gave an amused chuckle and returned to his former position hunched over his friend’s lower half.  “Just do me a favor and let me finish what I’m doing.”

“I’ll shut up, yeah,” Tony replied, but he said it in a way that said both that he knew that wasn’t what Bruce meant, and that he wasn’t offended.  It also held a hint of ‘Well get to fucking work, then’.

Bruce nodded acquiescingly and took the other teen back into his mouth.  He returned to the rhythm he had been working before, this time sweeping his palms up and down Tony’s torso.  He could feel every little twitch and spasm of the other’s body beneath his fingertips, and that gave him satisfaction, along with the noises slipping out from his friend’s mouth.  It still formed words, but nothing particularly coherent, and Bruce let his hands wander higher to press down on that place in the center of Tony’s chest.

Tony’s limbs were torn between twisting and grabbing at the sheets, and wrapping around Bruce to pull him closer, not let him go. He felt that familiar heat building up in his loins, and he couldn’t keep his hips from lifting up to meet Bruce’s mouth as it came back down.  Bruce let him do it, mostly because he didn’t want to break Tony’s stride-- it felt like he was getting closer and Bruce wanted to make him cum.  He dropped one of his hands to attend to his own arousal, jerking sharply and quickly to gain ground so he wouldn’t be far behind his friend.

Tony could barely form words at this point, reduced to moaning and twisting.  Knowing he was dangerously near climax, he tried to croak out a warning.  “B-Bruce...”

But he didn’t get a response, the other was steadfastly ignoring him-- Bruce had told him to keep quiet, and he didn’t want to hear whatever smart thing was about to come out of Tony’s mouth. Tony swallowed and tried again.  “B-Brrruce... B-Big Guy! I-I’m... g-gonna--”

Bruce lifted his head with annoyance to issue a sharp “What?” continuing to aggressively pump his hands on each of their lengths simultaneously.

“Aaah fuuuuck!” Tony let out a loud cry as the continued stimulation finally sent him shuddering into climax, hips rocking as he rode it out.

A thick rope of semen jetted up into his face and Bruce grimaced with disgust, quickly pointing it away so as to not be hit with the rest.  He opened his eyes again and let out a deeply exasperated sigh at the fluid visible on his right lens.  Trying not to lose steam, he flicked them off his face and focused on getting to his own finish with a few more strokes of his hand, grunting when he lost it onto the bedding.

“Like a duck to water... Jesus...” Tony groaned when he’d finally managed to regain the coherency required to speak, “Did I get your glasses?” he added, trying not to sound amused, even though he was really, _really_ amused.

Bruce took a deep breath in and out, recovering himself.  “Yeah,” he responded, reaching up to wipe away some of the excess on his cheek.

“Sorry?” Tony tried, unsure of what to say as he watched the other teen try to clean himself, “Feel free to use the shower to wash up.  I think that’s gonna take more than a kleenex to get off.”

“Not going to join me?” Bruce snorted with amusement as he crawled out of bed and began to disrobe.

“Dear God, you’re like ‘The Little Freudian Engine That Could’ aren’t you?” Tony chuckled, following along.  “And I thought my presence need not be implied.  I’m _very_ serious about water conservation.  Plus we both need to be ready and dressed for that stupid book club meeting by when, exactly?”

Bruce halted in his steps towards the bathroom.  “So you’re coming along now...?” he asked dubiously.

“If the invitation still stands.  Gotta keep an eye on the beast I inadvertently awakened, make sure nobody leaves that meeting with a limp.”

Jokes aside, Bruce remained serious.  “You have to promise to behave.”

“Please!” Tony scoffed in response, “Butter would not melt in my mouth.”  And before he could stop himself, he’d leant forward and captured Bruce’s lips briefly before pulling back to undress and enter the bathroom, “Not so sure about you, though.”

The kiss rooted him to the spot.  Which was one of the chief concerns in Bruce’s mind.

\--

She really, really didn’t want to be worried about Tony right now.

Make that really, really, _really_ didn’t.  In fact, more than anything she wanted to be mad at him instead.  She _was_ mad-- no, furious better described how she felt-- what right did he have to make her worry so much?  Turning off his phone and shutting her out.  Ugh.  It was just so _Tony_.  This was what she got for trying to reach out!  Why she had even _bothered_ was beyond her.  Tony would never change.

Since then, Pepper hadn’t been able to get ahold of him.  She’d tried multiple times that day, only to give up and tell herself that he’d be done throwing his fit by the next day.  But when his phone _still_ rerouted to voicemail come morning, her concerns increased twofold.

Her cellphone gave its text-message-received jingle and she scrambled for it.

Her face instantly fell.  Happy.

_‘Hey, Pep.  Just wanted to check on you, see how you’re doing.  I really miss you.  I know we’re still taking a break, but I think it would be nice to get together, maybe just for dinner or something simple--’_  She skipped the rest before rolling her eyes.  Now was not a good time, and she felt an unrealistic irritation towards Happy for texting her during a mini-crisis, even though he couldn’t have possibly known about said mini-crisis.

It didn’t help that since Tony’s call on Monday night, she’d been thinking about him more and more.  And about how they used to be when they were together.  They’d never been terribly romantic or even what you’d call ‘serious’, even at the peak of their relationship; it had always been light-hearted and fun and...

Simple.

Pepper’s eyes dropped to Happy’s message on her phone again.  Right now she could really use some simplicity in her life.  What good was hers and Happy’s break if she didn’t get some distance so she could _decide_ what it was she really wanted?  She needed some breathing room.  Needed some way to un-wind.  Chill-out.  De-stress.

Tony had always been really good for that.

She wet her lips, staring at her reflection in the mirror of her vanity table, a plan starting to form in her head.  She picked up her hair curler and plugged it into the socket.

She needed to look good tonight.

\--

He left the engine idling as Bruce ran inside his house to grab what he needed.  Tony watched the drizzle come down on the windshield, the steady beat of the wipers moving back and forth reminding him of a song.  It quickly lodged in his brain and he began to tap his fingers against the steering wheel while he waited, drumming out the rhythm to the song that he was now seriously considering playing over the stereo so he could get it out of his head.  Just as he was about to relay the command to JARVIS, he spotted Bruce on the front stoop carrying his bookbag and an umbrella.

A look of confusion warped Tony’s features as the big guy darted around the hood and came over to the driver’s side.  “What are you--?” he started.

“Shove over, I’m driving,” Bruce relayed.  “You’ve got homework.”

“Homework?” Tony looked like Bruce had just bought him a puppy and then punted it across the Westmore football field, “But it’s winter break...”

“You wanted to go to bookclub, you have to be able to participate,” the other reasoned, getting in and scooching Tony over with his body weight.  He plopped the assigned novel into his friend’s lap.  “I hope you weren’t blowing hot air about your speed-reading capabilities.”

“Not in the slightest... but _Bruuuce_...” Tony’s boast dissolved into a whine as he glanced back down at the title, hoping if he wished hard enough it would change to something interesting, “‘A Separate Peace’?   _Really?_ ”

“Well, you can still decide to drop me off and spend the rest of the day all alone if you want,” Bruce remained firm as he shifted into first.

“Oh Hell no, I’m going,” Tony interjected, waving his hand dismissively, “Just don’t expect me to raise my hand.  They won’t wanna hear _my_ opinion of this book, _especially_ in a public library.”

Bruce chuckled; Tony had a point there, it wasn’t the most cheerful of selections, “Yeah.  Just give yourself a quick refresher in case they ask you a question.”  He didn’t want to regret taking him along and in turn, embarrassing Betty.

“Encouraging self harm... God, what kind of friend are you?” Tony grumbled, but flipped the book open anyways, skimming through and trying not to cringe.

\--

Bruce shook off the chill as the two of them stepped into the main lobby of the library, dragging the soles of his shoes across the already too-damp-to-be-effective doormat in the entry.  He collapsed the umbrella that had been keeping the both of them dry.  He loosened the scarf cinched around his neck as he looked up, spotting Betty standing across the atrium, her long dark hair a sharp contrast to the white peacoat she was wearing.  Her eyes lit up when she saw him, hurrying over.

“Bruce!  You made it!” she went in for a hug, but stopped short, unsure.  Her peripheral vision picked up a familiar face just stepping onto the curb, “You brought Tony with you?”

“Yeah, I uh... I hope that’s alright,” Bruce said, voice carrying a somewhat apologetic tone, ready to take the fall if he needed to.

She smiled, biting back the reflexive apology on her tongue, “Oh no, that’s great!  The more the merrier!”

“Unless you happen to be in this book,” Tony grumbled.  “Then it’s nothing but rage and jealousy until your best friend dies...”

Betty let a polite giggle slip, “I didn’t pick it.  I read it back in seventh grade.”

“Oh you poor thing.  Does it still hurt?” Tony responded with mock concern.

“Only when I’m forced to relive the memories,” Betty joked back.

“Which is probably why you meet in a group.  So we can get through this, _together_ ,” Tony said in his best therapist voice, placing his hand upon her shoulder, to which she giggled again.

Bruce issued a snort.  “You’re both acting like there’s no literary value to the story.  It deals with friendship and the influence it can have on the establishment of identity, as well as the concept of forgiveness.”

Tony’s eyes gave a dramatic roll in his skull.  “Just because it mentions those issues, doesn’t mean it deals with them, at least in any way that isn’t all whiny and self-loathing.  I might be biased, because I couldn’t connect with the main character, so I didn’t really care about his personal growth or self discovery.”  Tony continued, gesturing frantically as he spoke, “I didn’t hate him; I just didn’t care.  No amount of character development can make you feel for a character that you don’t care to understand.”

Tony’s hands fell to his sides, a long pause from all three teens making him quite aware of himself.  He cast a look slightly downwards, an embarrassed smile gracing his features, “Sorry, I should probably save some for the actual meeting.”

Betty smiled cheerfully.  “I think you’re going to do great.  Both of you.  The room is just on the west wing; come on, I’ll show you.”  And with that they headed off.

\--

Betty wasn’t wrong.  By the end of the two-hour get-together (snacks provided), many of the older women in the group had taken a shine to the two newcomers, captivated by their analytical abilities to express separate viewpoints on the text in a passionate, but objective way.  Which was likely why they were unanimously chosen to select the reading for the next session meeting in two weeks.

Bruce looked at Tony and Tony looked at Bruce and they both decided simultaneously, “Flowers for Algernon.”

The group disbanded shortly thereafter, everyone encouraged to take home leftover refreshments.  Tony snagged a stack of five Fig Newtons in his hand, only to receive a _bap!_ on top of the head with Bruce’s copy of ‘A Separate Peace’.  “You’re going to spoil your lunch,” he said, looking down at him reprimandingly over the top of his glasses.

Tony nursed the blow as Betty tried to suppress a giggle from the doorway, “I’m not four years old,” he pouted, “Or a labrador.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Bruce said, turning towards the door.  He pat his thigh and ordered, “Heel, boy.  C’mon.”  He added a little goading whistle.

Tony narrowed his eyes at the obvious mockery.  He turned around, and in an attempted act of deliberate disobedience, allowed his hand to hover over the forbidden sweets defiantly, “I’m not leaving without my treat.”

Bruce stalked over swiftly to his friend’s side, stepping close enough to murmur into his ear.  “I told you to behave, but if you do I’ll make sure you get a ‘treat’...”

Tony swallowed, nodding, but trying to look casual.  For the record, he was failing, but mostly because the majority of his brainpower was being used to remind him of all the reasons why it would be a very bad idea to topple Bruce onto one of the tables and have his way with him in between their matching copies of that horrible, terrible, stupid, boring-as-hell book (that he had a feeling that Bruce was just as uninterested in as he was, and only argued its merits for the sake of butting brains with him).

“Fine.  Okay,” Tony conceded nervously, calming down slightly when Bruce backed up some.  “But...” his hand drifted back nervously to the stack of cookies, as his eyes shifted into puppy mode, “Come on, just one?”

“Oh, alright... just one,” Bruce relented, selecting a cookie from the tray.  He watched with amusement as Tony’s eyes followed it on its path, reaching up to balance it on the bulb of Tony’s nose as best he could, grinning the whole time.

“You aren’t really--” Tony started, before instinctually leaning slightly to the left to keep the cookie from falling.  Wait, _instinctually?_  Better not repeat that one out loud, or Bruce would never let him hear the end of it, “Aren’t really expecting me to... what is this called?  Begging?”

Betty, meanwhile continued to watch from the doorway in amusement.  She had to admit the scenario was a little odd, and as much as it shouldn’t have been, it was also adorable; she couldn’t look away.  Like a car crash.  If the cars were made out of pillows and kittens.  She shook her head.  That was a horrible analogy; she probably shouldn’t have skipped breakfast this morning.

“You don’t have to beg, just hold still for three seconds,” Bruce instructed, enjoying stringing his friend along a bit too much.

“That’s just as bad.  Or even worse.  Or both.”  Tony grumbled, straining his eyes to look downward at Bruce while his head tilted back to keep the cookie from falling.  He never bothered questioning why he couldn’t just let the cookie fall and pick up a whole new _box_ on the way home.  He wanted that _specific_ cookie, and he wanted Bruce to let him have the cookie he wanted.  It was a stubborn, pointless stance, but Tony was taking it, and he wasn’t budging.

Tony seemed to have come to a stop.  “Three...” Bruce counted with an intentional slowness, watching for any signs of his friend wavering.  “Two...” he drew out.

Tony wanted to clench his hands into fists, but he wasn’t sure whether that counted as movement, so he willed his fingers still, tremoring slightly.

“...aaand one,” Bruce motioned that he could go.

With a smirk so quick Bruce would have missed it if he hadn’t been staring straight at him, Tony dipped his chin just briefly before snapping his head back up.  This subsequently sent the Fig Newton a short distance into the air above Tony’s head, before plummeting back down and into his waiting mouth, whole.  It was impressive, or as impressive as catching food in one’s mouth could realistically be.

“Show-off,” Bruce chuckled, grabbing up one for himself.

Tony’s expression was saturated in smug as he chewed and swallowed his treat, though a slow clap reminded them that they were not alone.  “So shall we go to lunch?” Betty spoke up now that the two boys seemed to be done goofing around.

“Depends.  Is Bruce gonna let me eat without making me balance the plate on my nose first?” Tony teased.

“Now that _would_ be a trick,” Bruce folded his arms with a smile, now feeling a bit embarrassed he’d allowed his and Tony’s antics to go as far as they had in front of Betty.  He turned to the girl.  “Did we ever decide on some place to go?”

“I don’t think we did,” Betty responded, “Any ideas, Tony?”

The teen tapped his foot as he thought aloud.  “I’m not big on fast food...  Just looking at the menu at some of those places make my heart hurt,” Tony said in a joking manner.  Betty made a small laughing noise, but Bruce knew how true it probably was.  “Come to think of it, Brucey, I kind of miss your mom’s cooking,” he started, “But that would be silly, to invite us over in your stead...”

Bruce wasn’t sure how that was possible, considering Tony had just ingested a sandwich made of his mom’s leftovers the night prior...

“Though you seem to have no problem with passively suggesting that Bruce do so himself,” Betty added with a taunting voice and a warm smile that made Tony chuckle a little self-consciously.  Though Betty had to admit it _would_ be nice to see Mrs. Banner again.  She’d always been such a sweet lady, from what she could recall.  And she’d _certainly_ made the best grilled cheese sandwiches Betty could ever remember tasting.  It had been too long since she’d last visited the Banner household.  

“This is _Bruce_ ; you need to be straightforward.”  She motioned as if making a demonstration, and took ahold of Bruce’s left arm, “Please can we come over, Bruce?”

Not to be outdone, Tony snagged Bruce’s right.  “Yeah, pleaaase, Bruce?” he held the word obnoxiously.

The young man cleared his throat, glancing back and forth between his two friends as he weighed the decision uncertainly.  Though _he_ was certainly feeling awkward by this point, he couldn’t really see his mom minding... in all likelihood her reaction would be just the opposite.  She’d be delighted.  “I guess we could... just, um... let me give her a call so she knows we’re coming.”

“Oh, yippee,” Betty’s face lit up with a smile.

Tony slapped Bruce on the back, “I _knew_ you wouldn’t let us down, big guy.”

Now that he had possession of his arms once more, Bruce slid his phone out of his pocket.  He was lucky it hadn’t died again.

A few minutes later the three of them exited the library, headed out to the parking lot, Bruce opening up his umbrella for he and Tony to stand under, while Betty tossed the faux-fur-lined hood of her peacoat over her head.  “If you don’t remember the way, just follow Tony,” Bruce called out to her over the sound of the raindrops striking the asphalt.

“Oh, alright!” Betty responded, finding the concern sweet, but actually she did remember the way.

“See you there!” Tony called back, waving an arm over his head, Bruce mumbling something or other under his breath.  More than likely a gripe over how loud Tony was being, or the fact that their cars weren’t really that far apart, or maybe he was just eager to get fresh with Tony in his car, but now couldn’t because he’d suggested Betty follow them in said car.  Considering how Tony preferred to be the center of the universe, he guessed number three.

“I suppose we’ll have to ride with the top up more often.”  From the look on Tony’s face, and the tone of his voice, it was obvious he wasn’t referring to the potential weather damage. 

Bruce gave a snort.


	19. Chapter 19

The rain was beating down by the time they got to the house, the gutters in the street starting to flood from the sheer volume of water falling from the sky. It certainly made the thirty or so feet to the front porch from the curb look far away. Bruce grimaced somewhat as he stepped out of the mustang under his umbrella and then came around to the driver’s side to offer Tony the small piece of shelter as well.

The driver’s side door was already open by the time he’d circled around. Tony was glaring up at the clouds bitterly, as if he could just will them away. “I told you that book was bad news. Now even the _weather’s_ depressing as Hell.”

“I just wonder when it’s going to break,” Bruce commented. Eventually he’d have to return to Tony’s to get his moped but he certainly didn’t want to in the current conditions. The storm couldn’t last forever, though if it continued into the evening, the dropping temperature could turn it into sleet.

“You parked your scooter in our garage last night, right?” Tony interrupted, stepping close to him and then smirking salaciously, “Sorry, it’s not one of the most vivid memories I have of that evening.”

Bruce just scoffed. He had. “Understandable.” He squinted into the torrent behind them for any sign of the headlights on Betty’s Volkswagen Beetle, concerned they’d lost her somewhere along the way. By the time he’d escorted Tony to the front door, he saw the dual beams of light shining through the grey. “You can go on inside, I’m gonna grab Betty,” he told his friend before walking back out to the curb to meet her with the umbrella as she pulled up.

A corner of Tony’s mouth rose as he turned to open the front door and call in, “Hey Mom, I’m home.” He still had to keep himself from snorting laughter when saying it. Even though Mrs. Banner had encouraged it, he almost felt like he didn’t deserve to have a mom sometimes. It turned out Mrs. Banner was almost as vital to his emotional well-being as her son was.

“Tony, sweetheart!” the woman appeared in the entryway lickety-split, proving she’d been waiting expectantly for the three teens' arrival ever since the phone call. “Oh my goodness, it’s gotten just dreadful out there, hasn’t it?” Rebecca said, spying a glance out the door as she urged him further in, her motherly tone kicking in almost immediately. “Did you get your shoes wet? We can put them by the furnace to dry.” She reached out and took hold of his hands. “Oh, you’re all chilly,” the woman confirmed her own suspicions. “I’ve got soup heating on the stove, it will be ready soon, it will warm you right up!”

“One thing at a time, please,” Tony physically hopped back half a step, not sure which question or statement to answer first, but he was pretty sure she’d said that there was wet chili and cold soup in the furnace. No, that wasn’t right at all, “I’m sorry, you mind repeating that?”

The woman tittered and he couldn’t do much more than be pulled along into the kitchen.

\--

Outside, Bruce extended the cover of the umbrella to Betty as she stepped out of her car. “I was worried Tony might’ve lost you with his hot-rodding,” he joked with half a chuckle.

“Oh, he did,” she laughed, looping her arm around his back.

Bruce had a brief moment of sheepishness-- it meant she had known the way after all.

Betty glanced around the flooded neighborhood, taking it in again for the first time in years. Somehow the street on which Bruce lived felt smaller than it used to, even though she knew it was exactly the same size. She came to a stop on the sidewalk. “All of this... it’s like memory lane for me...”

Bruce felt her cheek rest against his shoulder. “I guess it would be,” he willed himself to break his speechlessness.

Betty crooned softly, picking her head up. “You should stop by my house sometime,” she invited. “Daddy redecorated, but it’s mostly the same way you’d remember it.”

He swallowed. “Yeah, I guess I could,” Bruce looked down in front of his feet where the water was dripping from his umbrella. He guessed he could? What kind of way was that to show his appreciation and say yes? “I mean... I... I guess I’d like that, yeah.” That was of course assuming he could detach from Tony long enough to do so, which at the present was pretty questionable. If Tony had been clingy before, he was doubly so now. He worried the inside of his lip with his tongue.

It was like Betty read his mind. “And Tony can come along too, if he’d like.”

Bruce gave a light chuckle, shifting from one foot to the other. “Knowing him, if he gets word, he’ll invite himself along.” Practically how this morning had gone down.

“I think it’s sweet how much he wants to spend time with you,” she said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

‘Sweet’ wasn’t quite the word Bruce would use. At least, not after last night... He wondered if he should tell her. Aside from Tony, she was his closest friend so if anyone was going to know, it would be her. “About that...” he started, “he and I...” he stopped, “Nevermind. Sorry.”

Betty looked at him strangely a moment but then shrugged. “We probably ought to get on inside, I’m sure your mom and Tony are waiting for us,” she suggested.

“Yeah, they probably are,” Bruce nodded. They turned to head up the driveway.

\--

In the light of the entryway, Tony caught a brief glimpse of light bruising on Rebecca’s cheek. He didn’t say anything. It wasn’t his place. Instead, he tried to ignore the discomfort of that feeling of helplessness deep in the pit of his stomach. It was strange how much she really was like his own mother had been. Suffering silently, never showing anyone anything but a smile, all her loved ones unable to help her.

But Tony hadn’t known it as a child. Bruce had always been aware. He’d likely had to see it happen in front of him. Tony didn’t know how much worse it would have hurt him if he’d known his mom was sick, that he was going to be someday too.

He hadn’t realised he was hugging her until he felt her fingers combing gingerly through his hair. “Tony, sweetie, is something the matter?”

“Oh, n-nothing,” Tony stepped back, breaking the embrace, “I just...” He shrugged, lacking any convincing lie, “I dunno.”

It was about then that Bruce and Betty entered. Tony turned to greet them, relieved for the distraction, “Hey, took you long enough.”

Bruce scoffed as he shook the excess water off his umbrella onto the porch before sliding it into the umbrella holder and closing the door after himself. “We were gone maybe three minutes,” he contested. But before either of the boys could argue further, Rebecca and Betty had rushed at one another, each emitting their own squeal of excitement as they embraced.

“Betty! Oh, Betty, darling, how are you??” Rebecca asked, overjoyed. She stepped back just enough to get a good look at the girl who she hadn’t laid eyes on for almost seven years. “My gosh, you’re at least two feet taller than when I last saw you! Haven’t you grown!”

Betty giggled in response, “Well it has been a while.” Semi-aware of Bruce she amended, “But it’s so nice to be back! It’s just like I remembered.”

“Well, not too much has changed around here,” Rebecca said with a smile, motioning at the dining room table as she turned towards the kitchen to attend to the lunch she’d been preparing. “But please, dear, come in, tell me what’s new for you! I just couldn’t believe it when Bruce told me he ran into you at the bonfire!”

“I couldn’t believe it at the time either,” Betty admitted, her smile never faltering. And like that they began to chatter back and forth about little things, catching up.

Bruce observed the happy reunion from afar. It was good to see them take to one another, even after so long apart. Watching them, Bruce had to question if he was the only one who’d had misgivings about the situation. When he’d pushed Betty away all those years ago, he’d thought it had been the right thing to do, but now he could see just how _selfish_ that had been. That it wasn’t just his own relationship with the girl he’d destroyed, but his mother’s too. Betty had probably been the closest thing she’d ever had to a daughter.

_‘Selfish... but for the best,’_ he tried to convince himself stoically.

“Well, they’re certainly getting along, aren’t they?” Tony sidestepped to comment close to Bruce’s ear.

It forced him out of his musings. Bruce nodded. He took in their smiles and laughter. “Yeah, they are.” A warm sensation spread through his chest. He murmured back to the other teen appreciatively, “Good call. On having lunch here, I mean.” Bruce wouldn’t be surprised if Tony hadn’t known it all along.

Tony gave him a wink, followed by a quick slap on the back. “Oh hey, you need any help setting the table, Mrs. B?” he piped in, his eagerness to please giving Bruce reason to suppress a chuckle. If Tony _had_ been a dog as so contested earlier, his tail would have been wagging back and forth a hundred times a second.

“Tony darling, I would just love that,” Rebecca replied. “You know where everything is, placemats, napkins...” the woman motioned her arm before dedicating herself to stirring the large pot of tomato soup which was bubbling away on the stove.

“You got it,” Tony nodded, before turning to Betty, noticing the handmade quilted bookbag hanging off her shoulder, “You want me to drop that off in Bruce’s room first?”

“Oh, no that’s fine,” Betty shook her head, “I remember where it is; if no one minds, I can drop it off myself.”

Bruce wet his lips. “Uhh...” he interrupted before she could get far. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he didn’t want her going there without him. He didn’t know why he was so uptight about it... because it wasn’t like there was anything he didn’t want her to see or anything like that (he’d already wrapped her Christmas gifts and the photo of them as kids was hidden in his drawer). It just didn’t seem right. “I’m already going, have to hang up my jacket,” he reasoned as he pulled it off and draped it over his arm, offering a hand palm up to take her bag for her. 

“If it’s on the way, I guess that’s fine,” Betty replied with a nod and a smile, handing Bruce her bag and then shrugging off her jacket to pass along as well.

He took the items, but before he could turn toward the bedroom, he noticed Tony hadn’t removed his coat either, the other teen currently busy dashing back and forth from the kitchen to the table as he worked to get it set. He’d apparently forgotten he was still wearing it. Bruce took two swift strides to intercept the young man, grabbing a hold of the fabric at the back of the collar to tug it off.

Tony’s arms got tangled briefly in the unexpected removal, almost tripping over his own feet. “Easy!” he snorted indignantly, but otherwise gave no protest, shaking his head once he was fully relieved of the garment. Bruce departed without further word, and Tony resumed his path to the kitchen.

Refusing to let the always-enticing smell of Rebecca’s cooking distract him, Tony pulled open the cupboard and grabbed four glasses, snatching up the napkins and placemats on his way back to the dining room table. After distributing them all neatly he returned to the kitchen to shadow the chef.

“All set?” Rebecca asked as she turned off the heat and gave the grilled cheese sandwiches in the pan one last flip to ensure they were a golden brown on both sides. She pulled down four plates and bowls from the cupboard.

“Done and done,” Tony reported with a smile.

“You’re such a good little helper!” Rebecca imparted, handing him a steaming bowl of soup and a plate with a sandwich on it. She gave him a pat on the head.

“Smells really good,” he remarked off-handedly after sniffing the air once again.

“And remember, I can always make seconds, if it doesn’t quite fill you up,” the mother offered, ladling another serving into a bowl.

“Should I get someone to help bring the soup out?” Tony posed the question, noticing that Rebecca was filling the bowls pretty high. She was always fairly generous with her serving sizes, but he didn’t want to stain her carpeting trying to carry more than one bowl at a time.

“It will be fine, thank you though,” she smiled.

Bruce returned from the excursion to his room. Trying to be polite, he pulled out the chair where his father usually sat to offer it to Betty. The girl nodded her thanks and sat, idly tucking her hair back behind her ears before laying her hands down in her lap. “Thanks, Bruce.”

“Yeah,” he vocalized, walking around to his usual spot. He pulled it out and sat down. Bruce realized he wasn’t doing much of the talking at the moment, but he figured that while guests were over, his mother and friends would be more interested in one another than whatever he might have to say. He was okay with fading into the background, content to watch them reconnect.

Soon they were all together at the table, soup and sandwiches in front of them. Rebecca put her napkin down in her lap. “Since we’re all together, which of my three angels would like to say a quick grace before we dig in?”

Tony’s mouth shot open, but Bruce managed to speak up first. “I will.”

His mother beamed (not that she wouldn’t have no matter which of them had volunteered) and Bruce pushed his glasses up before bowing his head. He spent an extra moment to collect his thoughts before beginning with purposeful cadence. “Dear Lord, thank you for the opportunity we’ve been given today to reunite with those we hold dear to us, to share one another’s... company.” The sentiment was his own, but he hoped it was one that was shared among the rest at the table as well. He went on. “We ask for blessing upon the food in front of us, that it may nourish us. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

The other three nodded, echoing an ‘Amen’, and lunch commenced. Tony complimented the food earnestly no less than two spoonfuls in, as usual; Rebecca thanked him as humbly as possible, as usual. Mrs. Banner tried to hold back and let Betty have a chance to eat, but she simply couldn't keep herself from asking more questions. "So Betty, how is your father doing? Has he been very busy?"

“Oh, he just got back from where he was stationed for winter leave. He, Leonard and I were actually going to have dinner together this coming Friday.”

The woman brightened. “Leonard? Who is that?”

Betty smiled apologetically, “Oh, I’m sorry, that’s my boyfriend’s name. I forgot to mention him.”

Tony blinked. Betty wasn’t single?

“He wants to become a psychiatrist, doesn’t he?” Bruce remembered, helping fill his mother in more; the girl nodded. He dunked his sandwich and took a bite of the soup-soaked portion.

Tony’s eyebrows furrowed. Bruce _knew_ Betty wasn’t single? If he’d said as much, he might’ve prevented Tony’s little mini meltdown. He took a big bite out of his grilled cheese to prevent himself from saying anything incriminating. Bruce was getting such a kick in the ass later, but for now he’d take it out on him how he could. Tony angled a kick into his shin and Bruce visibly flinched, only to glare at him with an obvious look of _‘What the Hell was that for??’_

_‘You know what it was for,’_ Tony glared back.

Neither female seemed to take notice of them. “Psychiatry is quite the field,” Rebecca remarked, clearly impressed by the intrepid goal. “But what about yourself, dear?” She smiled, reminiscing fondly. “I remember you coming up to me and saying you were going to be an astrophysicist one day. And that Bruce was going to be your aeronautics engineer.” The woman laughed, tickled by the memory. They’d both been so precious.

Bruce blushed somewhat. He’d forgotten about that until she mentioned it. That had been a _long_ time ago... second grade? It must have been. That was the same year they teamed up and won first place in the Science Fair, using marbles and a trampoline to model ‘The Process of Accretion in a Nebula, and the Resulting Protostar’ as the poster board had read. He probably had that blue ribbon around somewhere if he looked.

“Well, I can’t really speak for Bruce, but... yes, that’s still the dream.”

Rebecca cooed. “Well a bright girl like you, I’m sure you could do anything you want.” She paused, eyes swimming just a bit. “I’m sure Leonard is very dear to you, but don’t think those dreams have to stay dreams-- it’s up to you to make them an actuality.” Betty nodded and it seemed to set the stay-at-home mother at ease.

Tony noticed absently that he was rushing his meal just a little. He made an effort to slow down, knowing he was prone to do these things during these kinds of dinner conversations. Though he couldn’t really find it in him to pay too much attention to a conversation he had no input for. It felt like eavesdropping on two people talking about a movie he hadn’t seen. He hadn’t watched it with the rest of them, so he’d just have to smile and nod and be filled in on the details later. Just when he wasn’t expecting it, a question finally came his way.

“So Bruce, Tony, how was your sleepover last night? Did you have fun?”

To Tony’s credit, this time he wasn’t the one to choke on his drink. Bruce cleared his throat roughly, hitting his chest a couple of times with his fist. “Yeah, we had a good time,” he answered generically. His eyes flit over to his friend, seeing the half a smirk he was barely hiding. “Didn’t we, Tony?” he lobbed back.

“Yeah.” Tony nodded, “Great time, as usual.”

“Oh, you two slept over?” Betty asked, this being the first she’d heard of it, “That is so cute! I remember when we used to have sleepovers all the time.”

Bruce half-smiled, lowering his gaze somewhat as he nodded. He’d love to again some time, just for old time sake, but he recognized it was unlikely to happen considering their age and opposing genders. Not that that had held back he and Tony last night... Bruce drug his tongue over his lower lip.

Betty took a quick sip of iced tea, turning in her chair to address the boys directly, “What do boys do on sleepovers anyways?”

Tony fought back a blush, “Lots of stuff. You know, like...”

“Roughhouse,” Bruce said the first thing that came to mind.

Tony blushed harder. It was like Bruce was pushing his luck on purpose, “Video games, fire, explosions. You know, manly things.”

“Oh,” Rebecca blinked, slight concern written on her face.

“We didn’t blow anything up, Mom,” Bruce assured her.

“Started a few fires though,” Tony added before he could quell the impulse.

Bruce let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose; his friend had no idea how to talk to mothers. At this rate, he was going to worry her to death. “We didn’t do that either.” Tony snorted a laugh beside him and Bruce gave him a smack upside the head. “Knock it off, Tony.” The boy shoved him back almost knocking Bruce out of his chair.

“Well, I don’t think the rough-housing was a lie,” Betty observed with amusement.

Their mild laughter all but halted.

“Uh, yeah, guilty as charged...” Tony mumbled, scratching his nose.

A few minutes later, they all sat back with happily filled tummies. Rebecca collected their dishes and took them to the sink, spying a glance out the window over the sink. “My goodness. It’s only gotten worse out there. I hope you three didn’t have any other plans for the day.”

Tony knew better than to voice an honest response this time around, “Nothing comes to mind.” Bruce snorted under his breath and busied himself helping his mother clear the table.

“I’m sure we can find things to do around the house until it lets up,” Betty smiled. “I don’t have to be back at any particular time or anything.”

“There should be a couple board games in the hall cabinet,” Rebecca offered. “You could pick one out,” she said, obviously speaking to their two guests.

“Sounds like a plan.” Tony shrugged, turning to address Betty, “You wanna pick something?”

“Oh sure,” the girl smiled pleasantly, leading the way to the hall where she knew the games were stowed. She opened the door and briefly contemplated the choices-- the Banners had the basic, bare-necessity games like Monopoly and Trivial Pursuit, but she went for the shorter games, removing Jenga and UNO. “Jenga while we wait for Bruce?” Betty suggested. It had never been a good game for the boy... he spent more time fixing his glasses than pulling out blocks; she giggled privately to herself at the memory.

“You’re on. But I warn you, I have nerves of steel.” He held up his hands smugly, “Not even a quiver.”

“Oh my, very impressive,” Betty said with some hint of teasing. She took them out to the coffee table in the living room, kneeling on the carpeted floor. Carefully she removed the built tower from the box, using the plastic sheath to keep it steady. “Should I go first then?”

“Sure. I’ll play gentleman,” Tony conceded, though it was obvious by his tone he was in competition mode now. “Ladies first,” he gestured.

“Alright,” Betty smiled.

“Remember the rules,” Tony added, “You gotta use one hand the whole time, and you can’t start moving a block and stop halfway. And no shoving, blowing, or bumping the table.”

“I didn’t forget,” Betty answered; she rolled up her sleeves. This was where her petite hands and fingers came in handy. The girl placed her left hand behind her back and without hesitation, selected one of the blocks towards the bottom that looked loose and put it on top. “Your turn,” she smiled at the boy across from her.

Tony smiled back. Quiet confidence definitely was an understatement. This girl was hiding a forked tongue, he swore. No wonder. She’d seemed a little too timid to have been able to catch someone as standoffish as Bruce, but Tony could tell that that sweet face was hiding someone who _might_ hate losing as much as he did.

He eyed the tower for a few seconds, fingers settling on another loose-looking block, and smoothly extracting it. He smirked at Betty and sat it on top of the tower next to hers.

Betty heard the water come on in the kitchen, and she glanced up momentarily to ensure that Bruce was still occupied. “I found it so interesting when you asked me at the bonfire if Bruce and I had ever been intimate...” she said conversationally, her speech undisturbed as her fingers chose another piece and completed the new top layer.

Tony snorted. She had no idea; She was just trying to attack his masculinity, shake his nerves. It wasn’t like he hadn’t got this type of thing from Pepper already, “That’s funny, most girls would have found it rude.” He plucked another loose center block from the base of the tower, setting it down atop his and Betty’s to create another row, “I was only asking because you two seemed way more shaken up than I expected, so I figured maybe you two dated. Not the best way to ask. My bad.”

“Really?” the word came out of Betty’s mouth slowly, disbelievingly; she had her doubts that was the _only_ reason Tony had asked that night.

“Really,” Tony responded, looking her dead in the eye. He broke the gaze after a few seconds, “That would be your turn, Miss Ross.”

“Hm...” Betty seemed to study the tower for longer than was necessary, before giving a small “Aha,” and zeroing in on a block that was offering a good bit of support to the blocks above it. It wouldn’t be easy to remove, but if she could manage, it would threaten the structure considerably. With a delicate touch she grasped the side block by both ends and began to scooch it slowly but surely loose.

“I know what you’re up to...” Tony broke the silence smugly.

“Well, I can’t very well stop now that I’ve started, now can I?” the girl responded with a twinkle in her eye. Her reasoning was double-edged.

“No, no.” Tony shook his head, missing the double meaning, “You know what I’m referring to. And while it may not be against the rules, I’m thoroughly offended that you assume I’d fall for it.”

“Please,” Betty requested as she placed the stubborn piece on top, “Elaborate. And it’s your turn.”

“You, Miss Ross...” Tony said slowly and deliberately as he took a block two rows above the one Betty had removed, “...are trying to get into my head, with some silly fake insinuation about Bruce and I. My ex does it all the time.” He placed the block down gingerly on the top of the tower next to its clones, eyebrow raising, “Why, if you weren’t already spoken for... I’d wager you were jealous. Either that or just plain desperate to win.”

“Such accusations,” the girl feigned affront. The tower was beginning to wobble, but she made another educated selection and added it to the ever growing stack. “It’s alright, I won’t tell. But I _am_ just curious...” she hesitated, waiting until the exact moment Tony’s fingers grasped a new block, “how long have you two been sleeping together?”

Tony had never put much thought into what it would feel like to be dragged out of the closet (in fact, up until a month or so ago he’d never considered himself to even be _in_ said closet), but if anyone asked, he’d be able to tell them that it sounded somewhat like a Jenga tower toppling over onto a coffee table.

“Jenga!” Rebecca remarked gaily, throwing her arms up over her head, having overheard the loud noise from the kitchen.

Bruce didn’t even have to look to know what had happened behind his back. He momentarily paused his dish-washing to call back at his two friends, “I wouldn’t play that with Betty if I were you, Tony; she always wins!”

The girl was positively giggling, both her hands over her mouth to muffle what she could. “Do you want to play again, Tony?” Betty asked as she scooped the blocks into a pile to start layering them into the plastic holder. Though she _was_ still plenty curious about the nature of Bruce and Tony’s clandestine relationship.

“But... but she cheated...” Tony replied, dumbfounded. “A-and we’re not!” he shot back at Betty, wide eyed.

She shrugged, still stacking the blocks criss-crossed by threes.

Tony twitched, “What the heck are you shrugging at? We’re _not_.” Tony felt his face heating up, spreading to his ears, “You know we’re not; you just wanted to make me lose.”

Betty didn’t pursue the particular subject further; she kept her voice low as she slid the game back into its box. “But you do have a crush on him?” It was really more of an observation than a question. Tony’s face was so pink right now it reminded her of a rose.

“Oh ho ho ho, you are just precious. No. Not at all. Not in the slightest.” He was aware that he was rambling, but he couldn’t stop. He was afraid of what she might read in him if he were to back down, “I thought we were grasping at blocks, Miss Ross, not straws.”

“Actually, I think Pick-Up-Stix might’ve been in the cabinet...” the girl shot back. “If you really don’t like him like you say you don’t, why are you being so defensive about it?”

Tony forced a scoff, making an effort to keep his voice down. Was this really the place to be talking about this? “Yeah, well, you’re wrong. He-- We don’t like each other like that.” Tony felt like the words were thicker than his esophagus, being painfully forced out faster than he could say them.

Betty paused at the quick change of pronouns Tony had made during the stutter-- it shed light on the situation and she gave an understanding nod. After all, a long time ago, she’d been in a similar position to Tony's.

“Don’t. Don’t nod. There’s nothing to understand. You’re wrong. So wrong you don’t even know that you’re wrong. Kind of sad, really,” Tony shot back, but the charisma wasn’t there. He felt like turning and walking out. Why were all the women in his life so ridiculously perceptive? Why couldn’t they be blissfully oblivious, like Bruce? Alright, so ‘blissfully’ was a bit of a stretch, but still. It wasn’t fair.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t meaning to upset you or anything...” Betty began to apologize, realizing she’d accidentally set Bruce’s best friend off. “I just thought--” she dropped the sentence, spine straightening when she saw Bruce approaching.

The young man took a seat on the couch beside his friend. “Hey... is it alright if I jump in?” he asked a bit uncertainly, wringing his hands. He hadn’t been able to hear exactly what his two friends were talking about, but he could tell from their postures that the situation was a little on edge. It made him slightly nervous.

“Yeah it’s fine.” Tony swallowed, “Betty and I were talking about bands we like. I get kind of passionate about music. You know that. Sorry if I was being loud.”

Bruce wasn’t sure if what Tony was claiming had actually been the subject of the conversation or not, but he could tell the other boy was still a bit shaken. “Yeah, I know you do,” he said. He put his arm around him and gave him a couple of reassuring pats.

Tony tensed and scooted over just a centimeter out of self awareness, before relaxing back. Okay, he could acknowledge that this might become a problem. He took a slow breath. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, but he chose his next words deliberately and turned to address Betty directly, “You’re... right, though.” He swallowed, “about a few things, anyways. Maybe when we get a chance later we can pick up where we left off? You could make some recommendations...” 

“Oh, oh yes, of course, I’d... I’d be happy to,” Betty nodded, understanding exactly. Though just watching the two of them interact... that moment just then when Bruce reached out to Tony... it seemed different, not as... Bruce-like. Not the Bruce she’d observed in the past anyway. “Um...” she hastily sought to change the subject, picking up the UNO deck. “We were just about to switch games,” the girl informed Bruce, who nodded agreeably. She gave the cards three good shuffles before dealing out seven to each of them.

“Just an FYI, I haven’t played UNO in a few years," Tony cut in, glad for the change in focus, “Though I do remember being pretty freaking awesome at it, so good luck.” He cracked his knuckles and sported a Tony-esque grin, “I’ll go first.”

“Oh boy, here we go,” Bruce chuckled, picking up his hand and narrowing his vision at the cards as he reorganized them numerically by color. “He’s still trying to find a game he can beat me at,” he pretended to whisper to Betty. She laughed.

Tony pouted, “Hey, that’s a sore spot. I let you win that first game of Stratego because you were such a sad-sack. You don’t make a kicked puppy earn its meal. That’s cruel.”

“What’s cruel is making us all wait; go,” Bruce gave his friend a shove.

Tony rolled his eyes, flipping over the first card on the deck. Wild. Great. “Okay then, I play Blue One in ‘attack-mode’.”

“Please don’t,” Betty retorted, rolling her eyes and placing down a blue four.

Bruce set down a blue reverse, watching for Tony’s reaction with a subtle smirk.

“Deny me, will you...” he grumbled, “I see how it is.” He took no small satisfaction in slapping his Wild Draw Four card onto the pile when it came back around to him, “Oh, sorry, Bruce,” he teased with a fake wince, “Yellow.”

“You dick,” he said as he took his cards and Betty followed the color choice with an 8.

“Bruce,” he heard his mother call from down the hall, “that’s not acceptable language to use around guests!”

Tony fought back a snort, “Yeah, Bruce. You’re offending us.” Normally the big guy had a fairly clean mouth, but when it came to game-playing, that was when profanities started to come out.

“Oh yes, terribly,” Betty giggled along.

“Are you going to play or did you call yellow for kicks?” Bruce asked him, unimpressed.

“Oh, dang. Is it my turn already?” Tony looked genuinely surprised. “Well, one good turn deserves another, right?” He grinned wide and slapped down a yellow draw two card, forcing two more cards into Bruce’s hand.

Betty said nothing until she put down her green draw two with a look of smug satisfaction, getting the boy back, “And there’s another.”

Tony just grumbled in response and collected his cards, snorting when the ‘draw two karma’ came back full circle from Bruce to Betty. He slapped down a yellow card and watched Bruce do the same, then nearly cried when Betty played another wild draw four.

“Oh come on!” he cried out, throwing up his hands, “This better not turn into a thing.” Reluctantly he collected his cards, grasping at a plausible (or not so plausible) accusation, “This is discrimination. You’re both jealous. Of my skill. And you’re banding together against me.”

Bruce and Betty exchanged a quick high-five before she called red and he reversed the direction, only to have Tony reverse it right back with a blue and a pointed sneer. They played the color for awhile, though not without several draws on both Betty and Tony’s part until Bruce changed a blue 2 into a red one.

“Oh no, we wouldn’t do that,” Betty assured him just as she played a red skip card and kicked it back to Bruce’s turn who followed the current color.

“You just did,” Tony gaped, “You’re doing it now!”

“Our bad,” Bruce issued the collective as Betty added a red 7 to the ever-growing discard stack, their hands thinning down.

Tony grumbled as he once again was forced to draw a card for lack of the right color or number.

It was Betty who was first to call uno and run out though. She celebrated her victory with a “Yay!” and sat back to watch the two boys duke the remainder out.

Tony narrowed his eyes. Second place would be his, “Well, now that your sidekick is out of the game...”

Bruce just snorted. “Tony, you do realize that the amount of _actual_ skill that is involved with playing UNO is practically _negligible_ compared to the effect pure chance has on the game? Insinuating that Betty and I had any control over how our cards matched up is ludicrous.” They both were drawing and playing at a rapid-fire rate.

“You would say that, when you’re losing.” Tony hastily smacked down his second to last card, victory close at hand, “Ha! Scared?”

“You didn’t call UNO,” Bruce pointed out as he put down his next play.

Tony blinked, “I... what?” He blanched.

“That’s a two-card penalty,” Betty reminded.

“No, no. I was about to call UNO. Then Bruce interrupted,” Tony protested.

“A little late now,” Bruce chuckled. He motioned at him and Tony rolled his eyes, picking up his ‘penalty’. He all but grinned at the Wild Draw 4 now gracing his hand. When Bruce called his own UNO, he didn’t hesitate to drop it down on him.

“Son of a bitch,” Bruce got out in exasperation.

“David Bruce Banner, what did I just say??” Rebecca came out to admonish him, hands on her hips. He visibly flinched.

“He said he ‘had an itch’, Mrs. B,” Tony snorted, grinning ear-to-ear at the sound of his friend’s full name.

“Yeah, right here,” Bruce reached for a spot on the cheek facing Tony but away from his mother, using his middle finger to ‘scratch’ it. Betty burst into giggles again, rolling about on the carpet.

“Oh, _very_ mature,” Tony said in a deadpan.

“You’re one to talk,” Bruce stuck out his tongue at him.

The game was nearly won at least three times, neither boy backing down. Betty began to wonder if there was anything good on TV...

Bruce shook his head. “My God, how many greens do you have??” he asked as he watched Tony set down a fourth card of the same color.

“Enough,” Tony replied tersely, before slapping down a fifth. They were neck-and-neck now.

Finally able to switch to red, Bruce dropped two skips and a reverse on Tony, without a hint of remorse, nearly emptying his hand. “And UNO,” he warned.

“I’m trying really hard not to hate you right now,” Tony said, cogitating the two options in his hand. He could stick with the current color or switch it. _‘Fuck it,’_ he thought, going with the latter.

“Thanks,” Bruce smiled, setting his final blue 3 down.

Undeterred, Tony spoke, “Best two out of three.” He grabbed for the draw and discard to shuffle them together. Betty drew back up to the coffee table to be dealt back in and they began anew.

Two games later they’d all managed to win a game, Tony being the last.

“Now normally I’d call for a tiebreaker,” Tony started, “But I honestly think if I lose another game, our friendship may be in jeopardy.”

“Aww...” Betty teased, “He’s learning.”

“Slowly,” Bruce grinned, giving the other boy a light shove.

Tony shot Bruce a sideways glare, “You see, this is why I wanted to win.”

The rain outside suddenly got a whole lot louder; all three teens went quiet to listen to the sound pounding down on the roof overhead. Rebecca chewed her thumb anxiously, turning from the kitchen window to come out into the living room. “This weather’s just getting worse and worse... I hope your father doesn’t try to drive home in it.”

Bruce pursed his lips and remained silent on that subject.

“Either way, at least you’re all safe and sound in here,” the mother put on a smile, looking between the three of them.

“Wait, is that hail?” Tony seemed to grow alarmed, “Oh my God, my _car!_ ”

Bruce winced. That custom paint job might need more than a touch-up.

Tony stood up on impulse, his first instinct to get that car under some shelter, maybe Betty’s too, if there was time. But on the way up, he met eyes with Bruce, and forced himself to quell the urge. His impulsiveness usually got him into trouble with the big guy. And nine times out of ten it wasn’t the fun kind.

“You.. uh...” He shoved his hands in his pockets, de-accelerating, “You think there’s time to move the cars?”

“You can take my dad’s spot in the garage,” Bruce shrugged. Considering the man might be stuck at work anyhow, it seemed a waste to let the garage space go unused. Plus, Bruce couldn’t help but be amused at the thought of his father coming home, only to see a mustang was occupying where his Camry usually sat-- it would be a nice ‘up yours’. “You go out, I’ll open the door,” he formulated. It was nice to see Tony thinking a couple steps ahead for a change (and those gold stripes had kind of grown on Bruce besides, it would be a shame if they were damaged). He moved for the garage.

Tony nodded and headed to Bruce’s room to grab his coat. On his way back to the front door, he stopped, seeing Betty, “Oh, umm, what about your--”

“Don’t worry about mine,” she waved the concern off. “It’s a few years old anyway and Daddy’s probably going to get me a new one before I go to college,” she assured. Well, that was assuming he didn’t try to replace her bug with a _tank_. Her eyes rolled at the thought.

Tony nodded, “If you’re sure. I mean I can always just let insurance take care of the ‘stang...”

“Cars are like _babies_ to you boys, now go,” Betty spun him around, putting her palms to his back and shoved him out the door; she didn’t want to hear a single nother word of chivalry.

Tony nodded and bolted for said baby, resisting the urge to hug it as marble-sized hail rained down from the sky. He hopped in, starting the car. The garage door came up, groaning on its old wet hinges; Bruce stood inside, waving him in.

With a sigh of tangible relief, he pulled the mustang neatly into the space available and killed the engine.

“How is she?” Bruce asked, leaning over to scrutinize the hood as he ran his fingers across the freezing cold metallic surface. He didn’t see any obvious dents on first glance.

“Lucky...” Tony breathed out in relief, giving into the urge to hug the poor thing, “Very, very lucky.”

“You’re adorable,” Bruce chuckled out the admittance. Which was when he realized they were temporarily alone in the garage...

Tony picked his head up, eyes narrowing in challenge, “Say that again. I dare you.”

The young man wet his lips and advanced. He snagged Tony around the waist and breathed down his damp neck, simultaneously peppering it with short nips, “You’re adorable, and if we were _actually_ alone...” he trailed off, thinking of all the things he’d do and realizing there were too many to realistically voice.

Tony almost kissed him, but once again, things needed to be secure before he acted on impulse, “Lock the door. Tell Betty I found a scratch and I need to be alone to mourn. You’re keeping an eye on me. She’ll believe you.”

Bruce chuckled, shaking his head; he loosened his grip on his friend enough to wrestle the coat off his shoulders once again. “We only need about five minutes,” he snaked a hand around Tony’s waist, then pushed him back over to lean on the hood. He quickly unbuttoned Tony’s jeans and tugged down the fly, lust in his voice, “Let’s get on with it and you can tell her yourself.”

_‘Well this is different,’_ Tony thought, considering that all this had been done without even giving him a chance to stand up or take his upper body off of the hood. It was cold, but his blood was pumping, growing increasingly aware of the bulge pressing into his backside. _‘This must be what it feels like when the police actually_ catch _you speeding.’_

Tony’s retort was forgotten when he felt a hand slip into his pants. Shame; it was going to be a really good one, too.


	20. Chapter 20

Straightening their clothing and hair as best they could, the two boys made their way back inside from the garage, self-aware of what they’d just done and still overly concerned with the regulation of their breathing and if it might tip-off the other two in the household. Tony stowed his jacket once more and they guiltily crept out together.

Betty and Rebecca were in the kitchen, the younger breaking eggs into the electric mixer, the older holding a cookbook.

It took a moment, his brain still fogged with sex, but Bruce asked, “Cookies?”

That got Tony’s attention, his head perking up at the word.

“Yes, we thought it would be a fun little distraction from the dreadful weather. Would you boys like to give us a hand?” the mother asked cheerfully. “Oh, but make sure you wash your hands first!” she trilled, motioning at the nearby sink.

Bruce cleared his throat and rolled up his sleeves to do so, giving his friend enough room to slide in beside him. Tony shrugged and scooted in elbow-to-elbow, mirroring Bruce and rolling his sleeves up. _‘My God, we do everything together lately...’_ Tony thought, and couldn’t help but snort a laugh, shaking his head.

“Was your car alright?” Betty asked Tony, discarding the broken egg shells in the disposal.

“Hm?” Tony raised an eyebrow, “Oh, yeah, she’s fine. Sorry we were gone so long; I just wanted to be completely sure there weren’t any dings.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Betty nodded, returning to her work.

Bruce dried his hands off on the kitchen towel, curiously going over to the mixing bowl. He waved his hand over it, wafting the scent so he could determine whether or not the teaspoon of vanilla had been added yet or not. It had not. “Tony, grab a teaspoon from that drawer?” Bruce asked-- his friend was standing right in front of it, so it was convenient. Meanwhile he walked over to the pantry and spun the lazy susan until his eyes caught on the small bottle containing the dark fluid.

He turned around and almost ran smack dab into Tony, who was holding the aforementioned teaspoon. The two boys shared a brief awkward moment before Bruce took it and hurried back to the bowl. “So what kind of cookies are we baking anyways?” Tony inquired.

“Sugar,” Betty responded as she got the bag of flour and a measuring cup. “You know, with the icing and sprinkles? It was my pick.” She and Bruce began to work in conjunction to sift the flour into the butter-sugar-and-egg mixture.

Rebecca stood back, watching the boys and girl busy themselves efficiently in her kitchen, and it simultaneously brought her both pride and heartache. They weren’t little anymore, they didn’t need her guidance; they were all grown up. Her eyes settled on her own son as he grabbed a spatula to keep the dough from sticking to the sides of the bowl. She laughed softly because she could remember when he wasn’t tall enough to reach; she’d had to pick him up by the armpits so he could scrape inside the mix bowl. Rebecca sighed. She would always be his mother, no matter how old he got, but he no longer needed her the way he used to when he was a young boy. She’d known that for a while now, but that didn’t make it any less easy to move on. Her eyes began to water. Wordlessly, she excused herself.

“The dough will take a little while to chill in the fridge,” Bruce said, holding his glasses with one hand and flipping through the pages of the cookbook on the counter with the other. “Did you want to pick out a variety to make next?” he asked, holding the cookbook out to Tony which was currently open to the desserts section.

Tony hummed, browsing the pages, “I don’t wanna sound lazy or anything, but, I’m not coming up with anything.” The smirk ghosting his lips said the opposite, though, “Would it be alright if I took icing duty instead? I’ll just mix a few more colors if we have the resources.”

Bruce shrugged. “Powdered sugar and food-color dyes are in the pantry.”

“And I’ll need at least...” he stopped to count on his fingers-- “Two dozen of them cut into squares before they’re baked.”

Bruce’s eyebrows drew together, pausing as he scooped a teaspoon of baking powder out of its tin. “What for?” he asked. Betty looked like she might be thinking the same thing, but hadn’t asked out of politeness.

Tony chuckled, unwilling to divulge anything further, “For science.”

At the roomful of concerned stares, he sighed and added, “Just trust me, you’ll all love it.”

“Well alright,” Betty giggled softly, turning the mixer to a lower speed as the dough began to congeal into one large mass. Once she was satisfied, she shut it off and grabbed a spoon to dole out twenty-four balls of dough so Tony could experiment upon them. Bruce grabbed saran wrap and stretched the thin plastic over the remainder in the bowl, which she slid into the fridge for the allotted hour it needed to chill before it could be rolled and cut into shapes.

“Tony may not have picked another type, but I think gingerbread would make a nice addition,” Bruce said as he took the cookbook and flipped to the recipe.

“Well, chocolate chip sounds like a decent choice right? I pick that. Delicious, and easy to make. Won’t get in the way of the sciencing.”

“You just used science as a verb,” Betty stared incredulously, “I don’t know whether I should roll my eyes or give you a high five.”

Tony grinned pompously, “I know, I’m beyond words.”

“Betty, Tony,” Bruce said, indicating with his hands as if he were introducing her to him for the first time.

“I think I’m gonna go with ‘back away slowly and pretend this never happened’,” Betty decided, clicking her tongue and going back to work.

\--

They made the gingerbread dough next, adding it to the fridge to cool, followed by the chocolate chip cookie dough which was ready to bake immediately. Bruce and Betty formed them into one inch balls and staggered them on a cookie sheet-- all the while Tony stayed busy on his ‘project’ in the corner, refusing to the let them peek. Ten minutes in a 350° oven and the chocolate chip cookies came out, soft and evenly-browned, the chips still melty.

Bruce dislodged them from the baking sheet with a spatula, transferring them to a plate. A thought crossed his mind... as he was moving the last one, and he carefully picked it up between his fingers, taking care not to burn them before walking over to Tony. He prodded his back with his other hand.

Tony jumped startled. “What? No peeking!” He glowered, whipping around to shield Bruce’s view, a piping bag full of vanilla icing still grasped carefully in both hands.

“I’m not peeking,” Bruce contested, though he was wearing a look of endeared amusement. “I’m offering you a bite,” he held up the warm morsel. He watched Tony’s face rearrange a couple times as the boy thought of how to answer.

Tony narrowed his eyes, still skeptical. “I don’t like being handed things,” he spoke sternly, but licked his lips in spite of himself when the smell wafted under his nose.

Bruce rolled his eyes at his friend’s idiosyncrasy, but rather than explain his intentions, he merely took a bite himself before placing the cookie in front of the other teen’s mouth.

Tony felt his face heat up, and darted his eyes quickly around the room, content to see Betty didn’t seem to be watching, or even glancing up from her work. He didn’t even need to ask what Bruce wanted him to do. He just opened his mouth and bit down slowly after Bruce slid the cookie halfway in. He couldn’t help but hum ecstatically as he chewed and swallowed, the still-warm chocolate morsels melting in his mouth. “Oh God...” 

“Is it good?” Bruce asked, voice lower than it needed to be for such an innocent question.

Tony nodded, eyes fixated on the chocolate smudges spotting Bruce’s thumb and forefinger where he held the other half of the cookie.

Bruce chuckled at the intent stare his friend had on the rest of the cookie. He slowly took a second bite and held out the last fourth temptingly, to see if Tony would repeat the action.

Tony agonized over the decision for all of .015 milliseconds before telling himself ‘fuck it’ and claiming the remainder of that cookie with his mouth, his teeth and lips dragging briefly over the other teen’s fingertips as he pulled away. It was an accident. Really. If anyone asked, at least. Bruce glanced down at the piping bag still held in his grasp and used his forefinger to catch some of the icing that was about to dribble out the tip. “You were about to make a mess,” Bruce chuckled, licking it off with a half a smirk.

Betty turned at just the right instant to see the two boys sharing sweets and she could have sworn she was watching some softcore porno scene unfold right there in front of her. The sexual tension was palpable. Dark eyebrows high on her head, she slowly turned back around to resume rolling the pin across the sugar cookie dough, glad Bruce’s mom had gone to go fetch the cookie cutters from holiday storage.

“Would have been your fault if I had,” Tony commented, once he’d managed to compose himself. “Now begone! This is a controlled experiment.” He made a shoo-ing motion, though it was good-natured. Bruce chuckled again and vacated the premises, as asked. 

Tony turned back to his work. After another quick count, he noticed that he’d had a spare cookie or two left. With a chuckle he formulated a plan for decorating the spares, though he still was at a loss for what to do with the round ones, “Hey, once I finish these and hide them safely from Bruce’s prying eyes,” Tony teased, “I guess we can all decorate the round ones together.” He walked over to the oven and slid the cookie sheet with his confections inside, quickly closing it behind him as his eyes darted back and forth dramatically. Just as quickly, they stopped and narrowed on Bruce. “I’m on to you, Double-O-Big Guy.”

“I wasn’t peeking,” Bruce reiterated, “Stop treating me like Clint.”

Tony snorted.

“Who’s Clint?” Betty asked with mild curiosity, unsure if he was a friend of theirs, or just an inside joke. “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Banner,” she said as Rebecca dropped off the tin of steel cookie cutters.

“The Westmore archery champ,” Bruce filled her in. “You might have seen him that night at the bonfire, lobbing a few waterballoons that belonged to a certain someone...” His eyes slid over to Tony accusingly, selecting a candy cane shaped cutter and pressing it down into the rolled out dough.

“Oh sh... oot.” Tony censored himself, aware of the response Bruce had received for cursing earlier. Mrs. Banner hadn’t seemed to have noticed. “I forgot to ask if you made it out of there alright, Betty,” he stated with mild concern.

“Oh, right. I was fine. Clean and dry.” The girl gave Tony a knowing look, as if silently thanking him for the warning. She made a snowflake and added it to the baking sheet, going on, “Managed to catch one without it breaking, luckily enough.” She giggled at the memory before sheepishly continuing, “It might sound petty, but I used it on that annoying rich kid while he was trying to find his glasses. I can’t _stand_ him sometimes.”

Tony let out a loud snort of laughter, doubling over the counter, “Serves the fu-- I mean, serves him right.” He stood straight after a moment and wiped his eyes, realising the topic had strayed and Betty hadn’t gotten an explanation, “But yeah, Clint got the nickname ‘Hawkeye’ because his eyesight is apparently so sharp he used to use it to cheat off of me from two or three desks away. Right up until teachers started noticing all our answers were the same, down to the essay questions.”

Bruce spoke up, continuing for Tony, “Not to mention the whole ‘locker room’ incident. He was using the air vents to spy into the girls’ locker room. Nearly got him suspended.” He adjusted his glasses carefully. “Though I hadn’t been transferred yet, so I’m unsure of whether that’s just mass speculation...”

“Nope, it’s true. That’s how he met Natasha,” Tony remarked with an amused lilt in his voice, “She caught him, kicked the crap out of him, then I think there were a few missing reels... and next thing you know, they’re dating.” He paused, “ _Most_ of the time, anyways.”

“That’s not how Natasha tells the story,” Bruce observed.

“Eh,” Tony gave an aloof shrug, joining in on the cookie cutting, “They remember it very differently. Doesn’t really matter.”

Betty giggled at the retelling. “Maybe _I_ should transfer; your guys’ school sounds so much more fun than mine.”

“Always room for one more crazy in the asylum,” Tony remarked. The oven timer dinged behind him and the teenager gave an excited clap of his hands, rushing over, only to stop on a dime and search about. Betty figured out what he was looking for and extended the oven mitt. Tony took it and opened the oven.

Bruce felt his vision drawn like a magnet. He plucked his glasses off to quickly clean the lenses with his shirt. “So... can we see now?”

“Just got some finishing touches to make!” Tony grinned, hurrying back off to his corner of the kitchen. He picked up his piping bag of chocolate icing, and propping his tongue in the corner of his mouth, began to add the letters and tiny numbers to each square cookie, taking great care not to smudge them or make them illegible.

After he’d managed to decorate all of them, including the spares, he draped a sheet of wax paper over the tray to obscure the view, and trotted back to the oven, opening the door and sliding the tray back inside. “So now the icing just needs time to harden; give it a few minutes.” Tony nodded, as if confirming the directions with himself.

Betty folded up the leavings of dough into a ball to start rolling it back out again, while Bruce sprinkled extra flour to keep it from sticking to the mat. “Want to cut out some more in the meantime?” she offered.

Tony looked to Bruce instinctively to gauge what his answer would be, and immediately berated himself mentally for doing it right in front of Betty, “Yeah, sure. Why not?” As he placed himself between the two of them and grabbed a cutter, Rebecca came back.

“How are my three sweetums doing?” she smiled.

“Good,” they all chimed from their workstation.

The woman grabbed one of the chocolate chip cookies on her way towards the oven. “Oh, this is simply delicious!” she commented upon taking a bite.

“Used extra brown sugar,” Bruce explained; it was a traditional Banner addition to the recipe to give them a slightly ooey-gooey consistency in the middle.

Her eyes sparkled, but when she turned to flip the oven light on and peek inside at what was currently cooking, she made an even more effervescent noise. “Oh my goodness, those are just precious! Who is responsible?” she turned around to eye the three, as any of them could have been culpable.

Tony chuckled, coming up to the oven to look with her, “Thanks. They’re mine, but they were supposed to be a--”

Bruce couldn’t take the suspense any longer, he leaned in to have a look, but Tony quickly flicked off the oven light in response and shoved him back. “Surprise,” Tony finished with a playful glare. Bruce chuckled, the situation bearing very similar resemblance to when he’d gotten his wrist slapped trying to peek into the coolers.

“And you wonder why I treat you like a spy,” Tony scolded him, shaking his head.

“No, I wonder why you always have to be so secretive,” Bruce contended.

“I’m no more secretive than you are nosy,” Tony defended, “And besides, a few surprises every once in a while won’t kill you. Do you not trust me or something?”

“Oh, I trust you,” Bruce said, folding his arms, a smirk gradually cracking across his face, “to blow the oven up with whatever’s inside.”

“There _are_ some highly unstable elements in there...” Rebecca grinned, wiping her hands on her apron.

Tony whipped around to shoot a quizzical look at Rebecca, before he clued in to the joke she was making and grinned back, “But nothing I can’t handle, mind you. Child prodigy, remember?”

Bruce wet his lips, bewildered by his mother’s response. “Okay, Tony, now I’m concerned; what _did_ you put in there?”

The timer went off again.

“Oh look, your patience paid off, Bruce,” Tony remarked sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“You both sound like a married couple,” Betty couldn’t keep from remarking. Bruce just coughed into his fist, while Tony rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled awkwardly.

“Goodness, you’re right,” Rebecca followed along, which only caused both boys to become even more self-conscious. “Quibbling back and forth, always spending all their time together... why, it’s a wonder Tony-darling hasn’t asked me for permission to have my baby boy’s hand.”

“Mom!” Bruce gawked. He knew that upon reaching a certain age, it was expected for a child to be teased by their parents on the subject of wedlock, but this was just too much.

“We are _not_ a married couple,” Tony interrupted, sounding very serious. He motioned for Bruce to back him up.

The boy fought the blood trying to rush up through his neck and nodded.

“Bruce slept in that day,” Tony followed up matter-of-factly.

The other boy face-palmed. Incorrigible. That’s what Tony was. Rebecca and Betty just laughed. Bruce kind of wished he could disappear on the spot.

“Okay right, so I think Bruce has suffered enough. Wanna see the finished product?”

“Please,” Bruce said, and earnestly. Anything to get off the current subject.

“Okay; Bruce, Betty, close your eyes,” Tony instructed. 

“Again? Isn’t it enough to have reintroduced us once, you have to do it a second time?” Bruce joked, eliciting a giggle from Betty as they both shut their eyes.

“Quiet, you,” Tony shushed, as he and Rebecca laid the tray down on the counter in front of them. “Okay; Behold!” he called out dramatically.

Bruce opened his eyes, only to stare incredulously down at the three square cookies in front of him. When laid side by side, they spelled out his name, Br-U-Ce, utilizing elements from the periodic table. A white icing had been applied to each, but the dough had been colored according to their class... Bromine, a nonmetal, was blue. Uranium, an actinoid, was purple. And Cerium, a lanthanoid, was orange. Tony had also added the element number in the corner, and the rounded atomic weights on the bottom of each cookie. The level of detail was impressive on an artistic scale, while the memorization required to create that detail was impressive on an intellectual one. Bruce was kind of astounded. Meanwhile, his mother’s name had been spelled out using Rhenium, Berylium, Carbon and Calcium. Tony had used his full name (most likely because it required the most cookies to spell out), utilizing Nitrogen, Thorium, Oxygen, Nitrogen and Yttrium, but Bruce’s eyebrow quirked at the unidentified ‘element’ that began his name. There was no A on the periodic table. And he couldn’t _not_ point it out.

“Tony, there isn’t an element that’s abbreviated with A...”

“Adamantium.” Tony raised an eyebrow as if it should be common knowledge, “New scientific breakthrough?” He tried again, “Touted to be the most durable substance known to man? I thought you kept up with these things.” He rolled his eyes.

Bruce narrowed his own gaze at him. “I do. Adamantium is an _alloy_. It’s made up of a combination of metallic elements-- that doesn’t make it an element of its own.” He fixed his spectacles and gestured off-handedly. “The same goes for Vibranium. They have very misleading classifications. Slapping a latin suffix on something doesn’t make it special. Bronze and brass are metallic alloys as well, but you don’t see _them_ on the periodic table.”

“Are you two really going to argue about this too?” Betty asked with a laugh, picking up her Yttrium cookie and taking a bite out of the corner. This had to be one of the nerdiest conversations she’d listened to, at least since Leonard had gotten back from seeing The Hobbit last Thursday. She went on, defending Tony, “He had to use it or he’d be missing a letter in his name.”

“And then there’s the T’s in Betty...” Bruce went on.

“Tyberium!” Tony threw up his hands. The fact that Bruce would rather debate the cookies than appreciate them was equally frustrating and amusing, “Don’t diss Command and Conquer.”

“I knew I recognized that from somewhere,” Betty added, “I used to play that in middle school.”

“See? She gets it!” Tony huffed, thrusting a hand in Betty’s direction, before wagging an index finger back at Bruce, “And don’t you _dare_ get on my case about the Dilithium cookie in my dad’s name set. I saw that Star Wars box set on the shelf in your room.” It was hard for Bruce to gauge how much of this was friendly banter by this point, as ego was starting to bruise from the nitpicking.

“Star _Trek_ ,” Bruce corrected, the two not to be confused under any circumstance. “Dilithium is at least closer. It’s a diatomic molecule comprised of two covalently bonded lithium atoms.”

“Oh wow,” Tony smirked, “I’m just getting _everything_ wrong today.” Of course he knew the difference, but it was always entertaining to see a sci-fi fanboy get his panties in a twist over a stupid name mix-up. And in spite of his predominantly rational brain, it seemed Bruce was just as flawed as any of them.

Bruce wet his lips. “I’m not saying they aren’t cute,” he admitted, poking the Uranium cookie. He wasn’t sure he could eat his friend’s hard work. He frowned.

“That would’ve been the _first_ thing to say,” Tony mumbled as he shook his head.

“You know, if you start driving now, you could probably make Vegas by noon tomorrow...” Betty suggested, and Bruce coughed again.

“Shut up and eat your cookies,” Tony retorted, folding his arms “ _All_ of you.”

Bruce felt a certain blameworthiness wash over him. Averting his eyes, he picked up his Bromine cookie and took a reluctant nibble. He thought for a moment while he chewed. When he looked up again, he allowed his gaze to connect with Tony’s for just an instant. But that instant was all the more he needed to see that he’d legitimately _upset_ his friend somehow. Bruce swallowed and cleared his throat. “Hey, Tony, I think I left my phone in your car,” he said, though the device was in his pocket.

“Hm?” Tony remarked, trying to sound aloof before processing the question fully. He could just toss Bruce the keys, but he really didn’t like handing them over unless he had to. Reluctantly he pushed away from the counter he’d been leaning back on, “Yeah, fine, I’m coming.”

Bruce led the way to the garage and once they were out of earshot, he spoke up. “Hey,” he vocalized before Tony could make it to the ‘stang; he held up his phone.

Tony’s eyebrows scrunched in confusion, indignation, “Okay so what are you trying to pull here?”

“I wanted to talk,” Bruce explained. “Because you seem really upset. And I don’t get why.”

Tony let out a chuckle, anxious, irritated, but slightly relieved that Bruce wasn’t as dense as he thought, “Well it sounds really dumb when you put it that way, but...” He shook his head, “It’s like, I did this thing; this thing that I thought was really clever and creative and nice and thoughtful, and I managed to hide it from you until it was done, and... I dunno, it feels like a waste cuz you didn’t like it. Or maybe you did, but you thought it was more important to tell me there was stuff wrong with it.” He stopped, feeling self conscious, “Eh, it was kind of a stupid idea. Making names with an incomplete alphabet and all. Yeah, kind of stupid really, and I shouldn’t expect you to not--”

Bruce could barely comprehend the words coming out of his friend’s mouth with how fast Tony was talking. The other boy was winding himself up more and more and if he didn’t slow down, Bruce wasn’t sure whose head would explode first. “Tony,” Bruce tried to get his attention with little success.

“...but I guess it still kind of bothered me, you kn--”

“ _Tony_ ,” Bruce interrupted more firmly, grabbing the young man by the shoulders. “Settle down.” He did the only thing he could think of-- quickly pressing his lips to the other’s to stop them. It was probably a mistake, he realized; he’d only done it on impulse. It might give the other boy the wrong idea... that there was something more to it even though they’d both agreed it was ‘just sex’. It wasn’t ‘kiss me whenever you damn well feel like it’. Bruce withdrew, grip still tight on the other teen’s shoulders.

When Tony’s eyes drifted open, he took a few deep breaths, but all he could think to respond with was “Okay.”

Bruce exhaled. Misconstrued intent or not, his friend was indisputably calmer now. “It was clever. And I _did_ like it,” he clarified before his lips drew into a tight line. “I’m just, not normally very good at... saying when I appreciate... little things...” his nose wrinkled, “I guess. I didn’t realize it was any big deal,” he finished with a shrug. Honestly, it still seemed like a fickle, trivial thing to be so upset over, but he’d just rather it wasn’t a sore spot between them the rest of the evening. He’d had plenty enough fighting the night before, and the very thought of having another argument with his best friend so soon made his stomach churn uncomfortably in his abdomen.

Tony shook his head, “Knowing you, you probably thought the perfect response in your head... but then you saw that A and went all anal-retentive on it.” He thunked Bruce lightly on the head with his fist, “Don’t be dumb. If you think something’s cool, then say it. Then get your little Bruce-isms in and smooth out all those wrinkles in the logic if you really have to.”

“Ow,” Bruce rubbed the top of his head automatically, even though it hadn’t really hurt. “Fine, I’ll try.” A grin started to tug at his mouth, tension defusing. He roped his arm around the other’s neck in a slight wrestle. Tony flailed a moment before reaching an arm awkwardly back around and digging his fingers into the other’s ribs, searching for the spot he knew was there thanks to the previous night.

He found it. Bruce gave a small yelp and immediately let him go. He smirked. “Okay, okay. Inside. Before we get any repeats of earlier.”

“I’m putting that into my list of weaknesses. Yours. My list. Of your weaknesses.” Tony stepped up, putting them toe-to-toe, before giving him an alluring look. “And you say that like I’d mind a repeat...”

Their faces were only a couple short inches apart, and it was obvious what the teen was gunning for. Bruce gave a snort and obliged him, kissing him on the mouth again, which was getting _far_ too easy and enjoyable to do.

Tony hummed happily into the kiss, but pulled away finally, the first words out of his mouth being, “We really should get back; save something for the next sleepover.”

Bruce studied the playful, cheerful look on Tony’s features that his spontaneous affection had elicited. And it was plainly obvious Tony was looking forward to more... a lot more, if his words were to be taken seriously. Bruce chuckled awkwardly and nodded. Yeah, he really needed to stop kissing Tony.

Before they _both_ got too used to it.

\--

Tony and Betty were once again left to their own devices when six o’clock rolled around, mother and son commandeering the kitchen to prepare dinner. The weather had mostly let up, but neither Tony nor Betty were about to pass up the opportunity to have another home-cooked meal before heading home.

Ever since Bruce had sat down to play UNO with them, Betty had been watching the two boys more closely. How they interacted, physically and otherwise. How they spoke to one another. Of course, she knew it would be easier to evaluate the two of them if she could watch them without being present... that her presence altered the way they acted at least to some small degree. It was much like the Schrödinger’s Cat paradox.

Betty touched Tony on the arm, motioning her head down the hall. “Did you want to talk now?” she offered.

Tony shot a glance back towards the kitchen, pondering for a short moment. Better now than never. He nodded, “Okay, yeah. But keep an ear open for them.”

The two of them walked down to Bruce’s room. Dark had fallen about an hour ago, and the dim luminescence from the glow-in-the-dark starscape overhead had taken over the room.

Betty put a hand to her breast, letting out a soft croon. It was all she could do but let the memories pour over her. For a single moment, she felt like she was nine again, carrying in her sleeping bag and plush alien. Smiling wistfully but fondly, she returned to the present, stepping the rest of the way into the room and taking a seat on the bed. Tony joined her.

She crossed a leg over a knee and stared up at the dotted ceiling. “You know... when you said he still had these, I didn’t believe you. I thought you were just saying it.”

Tony shook his head, “More like ‘just blurted it out.’. I thought it’d help, but I guess it was more Bruce’s place to say something about it.” His gaze lowered. He was truthfully still embarrassed with himself about the split second decision to reunite them. It could’ve gone so much worse than it had, and he hadn’t taken the time to think about just how bad things could have backfired. He’d just wanted to do something to make Bruce happy, and...

_‘Oh God. How long have I liked him, really?’_ Tony’s thoughts assaulted him.

Betty gave a short little laugh, keeping her hands in her lap as she shook her head. “ _If_ he ever said anything about it.”

Tony shrugged, “Still would’ve seen it eventually. It wasn’t my place to go sharing his secrets.”

“Yes, eventually, I suppose...” she took a brief moment to contemplate Jupiter. “Though I’m only seeing it tonight because you brought up coming over.” Betty looked at Tony meaningfully. “I think that’s one of the best things about you and he being close... you really get him to open up where no one else can.”

Tony’s smile was too wide to hide, so he kept his head down and tried to shrug it off, “Well, he wouldn’t have unless he wanted to. I mean, maybe he was just... ready. I don’t know.”

Betty made a soft humming noise-- she really thought the boy was short-changing how much of an influence he had on Bruce. “Ready or not, he _did_ because of you.”

“Look,” Tony sighed, “I know that you and his mom like to build me up to be this, like, ‘Bruce-whisperer’, and that I’m this big hero who saved his social skills and made him magically trust people again, but--” He ran a hand through his hair roughly, frustrated, “But I’m just _not_. I’m not a hero or a good guy in any sense of the word. I’m a selfish, spoiled rich kid who doesn’t stop until he gets his way. I’m not the kind of person that deserves...” He trailed off, unsure of how to finish that sentence, “Just because the results are good, doesn’t mean the intentions are selfless. God, am I making _any_ sense?”

“You are,” Betty said, shrugging her shoulder. Her lips pulled together, heart pining somewhat for the boy seated beside her. She tried to explain things the way she saw them. “But being in a relationship-- romantic or not-- isn’t about being selfless. It’s exactly the opposite. The ‘self’ is made up of the qualities that make a person individual and unique, it distinguishes you from... say... me, or Mrs. Banner or that Clint guy you were both talking about,” she gestured. Goodness, she was starting to sound like Leonard. The girl continued. “You and Bruce are friends because he enjoys _you_. Who you are is your greatest asset. You wouldn’t expect him to be selfless, would you?”

“No, but...” Tony sighed. Might as well tackle this head on, “I just... It’s like it can never be enough for me. And I don’t think it’s fair for him. To crawl out of his shell, make all these changes, meet and surpass my expectations over and over in a constantly shifting standard, and then have it still not be enough because _I_ want more. Why can’t I just be satisfied with what we have and just stop thinking about risking it by pushing for more?” he finished, burying his head in his hands.

Betty felt a hard chuckle emit from her chest-- little had she known at the time, but she’d taken the exact same risk Tony was talking about... the night she’d kissed Bruce here in this room. And it had had consequences, some that had hurt a great deal at the time. She tucked some of her dark hair behind an ear, deciding to go a different route. “Well I’m assuming you two have at least kissed... when you first kissed him... what was it like?” she asked.

Tony blushed. “God, you want to know everything, huh?” he remarked, though he certainly hoped she didn’t want to know _everything_ or they’d be talking a very long time.

“If it would make you feel better, I can tell you what it was like for me.” Her voice was somewhat wistful.

Tony shrugged. It would give him time to formulate a decent answer, “Shoot.”

The girl looked down into her hands a moment before looking back up at the stars-- they’d always given her a foolish kind of courage, sometimes for good, sometimes for ill. “I’d been crushing on him awhile, but I didn’t really know whether he liked me back. I mean, I really thought he did, but you can never be one hundred percent sure of anything. I guess I could have asked but I didn’t... kind of stupid of me, really, but I was just a little girl and I didn’t know what to do... he was the first boy I’d ever had a crush on.” Normally she’d keep this kind of thing to herself, or in her diary, but considering how closely Tony’s situation had been to her own long ago, there was an odd sense of connection there; she felt Tony _needed_ to hear it. She kept going. “One night I just decided to lean in and kiss him. All he did was stare at me. He didn’t even say anything afterwards.” She frowned, shaking her head. “I remember going home knowing I shouldn’t have and wishing I could take it back.”

Tony shook his head, “That’s sad. Anything happen after that?”

“Well... I suppose you know,” Betty shrugged, “Bruce and I started hanging out less until we eventually grew apart...” Her fingertips played with a frayed thread on her sleeve.

“Wait.” Tony did a mental double-take, “It was Bruce? You kissed _Bruce_?”

“Who did you think I was talking about?” her forehead wrinkled beneath her bangs.

“Not Bruce! He was my last guess. Yeesh.” Tony wrinkled his nose, “Plus, that kiss sounded nothing like him. He kissed back so hard the first time, I backed away because I thought he was going to hit me.”

Betty blinked, a little shocked. “Oh my. He didn’t, did he?”

Tony shook his head, “No, he...” he blushed a deeper shade of red. “He kissed me back, and...” he paused, looking hopeful, “And it was like we’d been thinking the same thing.”

Her curiosity clicked up a notch. “Which was...?” she couldn’t help but ask. The very fact that Bruce had kissed back was... well, she didn’t understand what Tony was so worried about. It seemed to her that if Bruce had kissed him back, Bruce liked him back. What other reason would he have to do so?

“Um...” Tony paused, “Well nothing really profound or anything...” He shrugged the embarrassment off as best he could, “Just that maybe this was what we both wanted. Not just something I started and he’s just deciding to go along with because he feels like he owes me, or something stupid like that...”

“Bruce isn’t very good at showing what he wants,” Betty provided her best insight. “He never has been. If you wait for him to say something, you might be waiting the rest of your life. I think you should just talk to him, openly, honestly. Avoiding it is only going to increase this sense of guilt you feel.”

“But...” Tony swallowed, “But what if he’s fine with things the way they are? Shouldn’t I just leave it and be happy with what I’ve got instead of taking a chance on something that might just scare him back into being how he used to?” He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear the answer, but he kind of expected to be told that it was the right thing to do. This was the most conflicted he’d ever felt about something. Just that morning he’d been telling himself that he’d win the other boy over with whatever it took. But was Bruce really his to win over in the first place?

“It’s only a suggestion, Tony. I can tell you care about him a lot, and he deserves to know that so he can come to a... decision,” she got the word out with some difficulty. “But I think you have a better chance than anyone.”

Tony couldn’t stop his response before it left his throat, “You really think so?”

Betty reached over to place her hand atop Tony’s, nodding. “I really do.”

Footsteps echoed down the hall and the girl rapidly took back her hand. A moment later Bruce peeked into the room, eyebrows drawn together and looking befuddled. “Are you two sitting in the dark?”

“Come back in fifteen minutes. We’re busy,” Tony deadpanned.

Betty slapped his knee scoldingly. “We were just admiring the ceiling, Bruce.”

Tony doubled over in a fit of laughter at the correction, “That sounds even worse!”

Bruce searched his mouth with his tongue, somewhat miffed by the joke. “...well, dinner’s ready. So wash up and come eat.” The young man departed vexedly.

Tony blinked twice, “Oh God, do you think he thought we were serious?”

“ _We?_ ” Betty accused.

“Yes, we,” Tony shot back, “That ‘admiring the ceiling’ quip is straight out of the big book of sleazy pick up lines. Right after ‘Is there a mirror in your pocket? Because I can see myself in your pants.’ “

She shook her head. “Come on. If we don’t get going, then he _will_ think you’re serious.” Betty took a hold of his wrist to drag him up from the other boy’s bed. “If I know Bruce, he’s confused enough as is without all the mixed signals.”

Tony was tempted to argue that he wasn’t sending mixed signals, but then he remembered how dense Bruce could be. “Yeah, fine. But I hope you know you’ve just taken away one of my only joys in life if you expect me to refrain from sexual humor.”

“What’s Bruce? Chopped liver?”

“Watch it,” Tony waggled a warning finger in her direction.


	21. Chapter 21

By seven o’clock, and after a lovely dinner of stroganoff (though not without considerable smothered snorts from Tony), it came time for Bruce’s two friends to go home.  Of course Rebecca barely wanted to let Betty go-- they shared a full minute-long hug before ensuring one another they’d be seeing each other again soon.  They divided the cookies up and put them on paper plates covered in plastic wrap so both Tony and Betty could take home several to share with their families.

Bruce was the next in line for a goodbye from Betty; the two of them shared a long hug as well.  

“You two take care,” Betty chimed before pulling away.  The fact that she’d said ‘you two’ and not just ‘you’ nearly went unnoticed.

“Uhh... we will,” Bruce said, clearing his throat.

“You’d better,” she warned good-naturedly, stepping back out of the embrace.

The dark-haired girl finally approached Tony, who admittedly looked a little surprised as she threw her arms around his neck and squeezed tight.  She disguised her mouth into the crook of his shoulder, speaking in a whisper.  “Remember what I said... you’re special to Bruce because of who you are.”  She continued hurriedly.  “Tell him when it feels right.”  With that she quickly pulled away, smiling warmly at them all.  “It was a pleasure, I hope we can do it again soon.”  She reached her hand into her bookbag, finding her keys.

“Oh wait--” Bruce suddenly remembered, lifting his hand to keep her from going.  He turned and hurried back into the closet in his room, grabbing the two wrapped packages marked for her-- one, the DVD set that had come in the mail, the other a pretty little trinket he’d been lucky to stumble across online.  He hastened back out and proceeded to deliver them to her.

“Oh Bruce, how sweet of you!” Betty exclaimed as the gifts exchanged hands.  He awkwardly readjusted his glasses about the time she decided he’d earned another glomp.  It made him feel warm and happy that she was so glad before even knowing what was inside them.  Hopefully she’d be even more so come Christmas.

“See you both later!”  With a final wave, Betty headed down the driveway to her vehicle.

Tony was too lost in thought to acknowledge her departure, though her words were still echoing in his mind.  He didn’t feel ‘special’.  Or rather, he really wouldn’t allow himself to feel special.  There were plenty of rich people already.  Plenty of smart ones too.  It wasn’t like he was the only guy in the world who’d survived a recurring heart condition.  Hell, he wasn’t even past his teens, who knew how long that would even last?  There was nothing of him worth anything that wasn’t put on or bought or inherited.

Even if other people thought the world of him, Tony’d never really admit it, but he couldn’t see why.  He really only had two facets to his personality; a mask, and a child.  Neither of which were very appealing to anyone looking for something substantial in a person.  He sighed as he absently waved goodbye to Betty.  Maybe he was being too critical of himself, reading into things too deeply. 

Or maybe she was just wrong.

When her tail lights vanished from view, Bruce turned to his friend.  “I guess I ought to come over and get my moped.”

Tony didn’t answer; he hadn’t heard.  He was still lost in his own thoughts.

“Is that alright?” Bruce queried a second time-- the other teen didn’t seem to be even blinking he was so absorbed.  “Tony,” he grabbed a hold of his shoulder with a little shake.

“Ah, what?” Tony jumped just a little, startled out of his musings.  He hoped Bruce wouldn’t ask, but wracked his brain for a decent lie just in case, though history told him it’d probably be too little too late.

Bruce shook his head.  “We should go back to your place,” he reiterated, now that he had his friend’s attention.  “I need to get my moped.”

“Oh, right.”  Tony let out the tiniest sigh of relief, “Sorry; I zoned.”

“I noticed,” Bruce chuckled; he could only guess where Tony’s head had been this time.  It was kind of cute, really.

“You tell your mom?”  He tried to make eye contact, but something told him not to.  He was getting too personal lately.  Personal Tony led to Emotional Tony.  Emotional Tony became Impulsive Tony.  And Impulsive Tony was usually one inch away from making a mess of everything.

“I will, just a sec.  You fire her up, I’ll grab your stuff for you.”  With that, the young man turned to go back inside.

“Okay, hurry up.”  Tony didn’t recognize the response that left his lips.  It wasn’t exactly harsh, but it didn’t sound like him.  Or it did.  It sounded _like_ him, but not like _him_.  His smirk probably looked like his, but it felt like someone else’s, and it made him vaguely aware of the sensation threatening to drape over him like a shadow.  It felt familiar, but it had been so long since he’d felt it, consciously _felt it_ coming over him.  Long enough that he couldn’t really name it.

Another pair of headlights was making its way up the street, coasting towards the house, the vehicle fishtailing ever so slightly.

For a brief moment, the memory of the badly-hidden bruising on the side of Rebecca Banner’s face flashed behind Tony’s eyes.  They subsequently narrowed at the likely cause, breaking through his veil of numbness.  He stepped off the curb, making quick strides to the garage.  He needed to pull the ‘stang out now.

_‘I don’t even want to think about if he’s drunk right now...’_

The car was getting closer, but the garage door was already coming up-- whether that was Bruce’s doing or his dad’s wasn’t clear.

Tony had ducked under the door before it was even halfway open.  He stalked past a slightly confused-looking Bruce, throwing his door open and preparing to slide his way in.  Bruce looked like he was about to say something.  Tony felt himself scowl.  “He’s here,” he spat, “Stay.  Get your bike tomorrow.”

Bruce nodded tersely.  Briefly he found himself surprised by his friend’s complete understanding... that he wasn’t trying to convince him to go to his place still... but perhaps that more spoke to the fact that none of this was a secret anymore.  He handed Tony his coat and plate of cookies.  “Yeah, see you then.”

“He’s fishtailing.  Either he’s trying to learn how to drift or he’s wasted.  If there’s a way to stop things from getting...” Tony stopped, the waver in his glare saying the rest for him.

“It won’t,” Bruce assured him with firmer conviction than he felt.  But he didn’t want his friend to worry; it wasn’t the time.

“If I see another bruise on her I might kill him myself,” Tony said flatly, the threat in no way a hyperbolism.

“We’ll be fine.  I promise.”  Bruce stepped away and pat the hood, giving him the ‘go on and get’.

Tony nodded, sliding into the driver’s seat.  He pushed in the clutch but hesitated with his hand on the stick shift.  He rolled down the window.  For a moment, he just stared out at his friend, lips parted with no words to say.

“Yeah?” Bruce prompted.

“I just...”  Tony swallowed, cracking under the pressure.  “Nevermind.  I’ll tell you later...”  This wasn’t the time anyway, he told himself reluctantly, rolling up his window after retracting his head.  At least that numb feeling was gone now.  He could tell, because he could feel the tingling in his arms that he felt that evening after the bonfire.  ...He hadn’t hugged Bruce goodbye.

As he pulled out of the driveway, glancing warily at Brian Banner’s Camry idling in the street, he couldn’t help but wonder if Bruce had noticed too.

\--

“Dad’s home,” were the first words out of his mouth when he got inside.  They were conveyed in warning.

“Oh thank goodness he’s safe and sound,” Rebecca said.  “I was beginning to worry.”

Ironic, since Bruce hadn’t been worrying _until_ now.  The door to the garage squeaked on its hinges and Mr. Banner slammed it shut before coming down the hall, a slight wobble in his gait.  He glared at the both of them briefly before sitting down roughly at the dining table-- it was obvious what he expected.

Rebecca moved for the leftovers to reheat them in the microwave.  “How was work?” she asked her husband.

His jowls tightened.  “Wretched.  The laboratory hires nothing but incompetent idiots.  Half the women do more work on their backs than at a workstation.  At least I was able to pick up some of their slack while detained by the storm.”  His gaze settled on Bruce.  “What are you staring at, boy?  Fetch my decanter from upstairs.”

The young man’s lips pursed and he momentarily exchanged glances with his mother.  His father had probably had enough to drink already, but it was better to keep things amicable for now.  Bruce turned and went to go.  Brian leveled his gaze on the woman he’d married as she brought over his meal.  “And what did _you_ do all day?” he asked accusingly.

Rebecca paused worriedly a moment.  “Bruce had friends over.”

Brian snorted through his nostrils.  The disdain was evident in his voice.  “I knew that Tony lout had been over; I saw him pull out.  Who was the other?”

“Betty Ross, do you remember her?”

Bruce heard the name as he was on his way back with the decanter.  He froze on the step.

“Dark hair, blue eyes?” Brian confirmed as he took a bite.  Rebecca nodded to his description.  “Yes, I remember her.”  The man was silent a moment before turning in his seat to call out, “Bruce!  What the Hell is taking you??”

The boy jostled himself out of thought and hurried over, setting it, along with a tumbler glass and the day’s mail by his father’s side.  Brian grunted his appreciation and Bruce wondered if he and his mom were ‘dismissed’ now.  He waited on stand-by just in case.

His father sorted through the mail, pairing a couple of bills together and weeding through the assorted junk mail.  His fingers paused on an envelope, an obvious wave of brooding confliction settling over him upon reading the return address written on the top corner.  “Every year, without fail...” he spoke with detest.  He pulled his pocket knife out of his back pocket and proceeded to tear a harsh slit through the flap.  Bruce knew who the letter was from; his father’s words were enough to conclude it was from his grandma, and he did not expect it to go over well.  He berated himself for not checking through the stack himself and removing it to give to his father on a better day.  Of course, it was possible there wasn’t such a thing as a better day.

The man removed the note written on a flimsy piece of lined paper, already scowling as he unfolded it along the creases.  His eyes skimmed across the lines of text, the grooves in his forehead deepening progressively with each one.  He lifted his glass of alcohol, taking a big swig before slamming both it and the note down on the table.  “As usual.  Cursed woman.  Begging to have her medical bills paid for her and doesn’t even have the decency to send a Christmas card.”

“I’m sure she’s just on a tight budget, or she would have,” Rebecca tried to soothe him.  “Maybe we should send her a little something this year--”

Brian let out a snarl.  “I refuse to encourage that disgraceful leech!  You don’t _know_ her, Rebecca, I _do_.  The next year she’d be asking for even _more_.”  His temper was flaring; Bruce wished his mom would leave well enough alone.

“But if she’s in a bad place she could really use--”

“I said I _refuse_.  That vile, contemptible woman can make do without seeing a cent of my hard-earned coin.”

Bruce fidgeted; he really needed to step outside for a smoke.  Thankfully the would-be argument seemed to have come to a close.  His father had moved on to reading the newspaper while he consumed his meal.  Bruce started to turn to go when the man spoke up again.  “Which of you did this?” the question held a note of accusation.

Bruce’s eyebrows drew together as he regarded the newspaper section his father was holding.  The classifieds.  Several of the postings had been circled with a red pen.  He felt his heart leap into his throat uncomfortably.  His mom had taken the getting a job thing seriously??  How could he take the fall for her this time...?  He started to open his mouth.

“I decided I want to start helping out again,” Rebecca said plainly.

The man folded up the newspaper curtly and rose from his seat.  Bruce felt himself take a step forward in distress, anticipating the hard slap she was in for... not that he could do anything to stop it.  But to his surprise, his father looped an arm around her waist and tugged her flush against him.  His mouth grazed her ear and Bruce saw him speak but did not hear the words.

“Rebecca, I’ve never wanted to make love to you more in my life than right this very moment...”

His mother gave a moan that made Bruce’s ears go red.  Breathlessly, she addressed her son.  “Bruce?  Mommy and Daddy are going to be back in awhile, okay, sweetie?”

The young man vacated the premises, certain he would not be missed for the next hour or so.  His father was a man of great passion... that occasionally went for other things besides anger.

Still, he had to admit to being a little dumbfounded, but he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.  He lit up and went about studying the stars.

\--

If Tony was paying any attention to his surroundings and not just going through the motions of driving, he’d have noticed the car.  The very familiar car that happened to be parked in front of his gate.  But Tony wasn’t paying any attention to his surroundings as he pulled into his driveway, nor as he shuffled his way through the garage entrance, and into the (lit?) living room.

He did raise an eyebrow at the lights... not to mention, had he turned the thermostat up? but ultimately shrugged, shucking off his first two layers of clothing.  He needed sleep.

“Tooony...” a sing-song called out from his bedroom.

He flinched.  He knew that voice.  He turned his head towards the noise, rounding the corner to his bedroom doorway cautiously, “Pepper, if this is about those text messages last night...”

Lying in his bed, her curled red hair loose and fanned out over his pillow, was his ex.  She was clothed in only a bra and panties... notably, red and lacy... and Tony couldn’t help but lick his lips reflexively in spite of himself.  “Nope,” her crimson lipsticked lips pulled into a smile.

“I have a feeling...” Tony swallowed, “...that you’re trying to tell me something.”

This was... unexpected.  And horrible.  Definitely horrible, as it was the last thing he needed right now.  Things were confusing enough with his feelings for Bruce.  Starting up again with an ex girlfriend-- an ex girlfriend who was technically only on a break with her current boyfriend-- that was just another mess he didn’t want to make.  Still... she really did look good in red lace.

Pepper rolled over onto her front, propping her chin in her palms and leaning onto her elbows.  The positioning accentuated the cleavage her bra was containing.  “I’ve been thinking, Tony... about a lot of things...”  Absently she traced a finger over the stitching on the blanket.  “About things I miss.”  She looked up, letting her green eyes connect with the boy’s alluringly.

“Would trespassing on private property be one of the other things?” he dodged, trying to sound scolding, but couldn’t quite pull it off for several reasons.  Well two.  Two round, supple, voluptuous reasons.

“Mm... well, there was that time we did it out by the lake...” Pepper remembered fondly, winding her forefinger into a lock of hair.

Tony chuckled, “It would’ve been _in_ the lake, but you were afraid of contracting E. Coli.”

An eyebrow arched on her forehead.  “Hey.  That lake was _disgusting_ ,” she chided, but her tone readily morphed back to sultry.  “...But the sex was amazing.”  She paused and moved to lay on her side, stroking her fingers over her own hip.  “It always was...”

The smile slipped from his face, “Pepper, I--”

“I miss you,” the girl admitted then, her words less playful and more serious.  “I _want_ you.”

Tony pondered whether faking a heart attack was a good way to get out of this mess.  Probably not.  Pepper would just drive him to the ER in her goddamned Victoria’s Secret getup, and as funny as that sounded, he hated hospitals.  He wanted to tell her she needed to leave.  Wait, why couldn’t he?  It was his house, wasn’t it?  How did she get in there anyway?

“How did you get in here anyway?”

Wow, smooth.

“Don’t you remember?”  She stood from the bed, walking over to him to grab him by the wrists, guiding him backwards towards it.  “You gave me a key that one July...”  Could he have really forgotten?  Or was he just being coy?  He couldn’t possibly have expected her to get rid of it, even if they had broken up.  Things like that came in handy.

“Oh, right...” Tony nodded in recognition, eyes darting for something else to focus on.  He settled for a discarded Butterfinger wrapper.  He really needed to clean his room out, he noted absently as he rubbed the back of his neck, “Listen... Pep, I dunno if tonight’s a good night for fireworks.”

“Why not?  You’re here... I’m here...” she reasoned, bringing their faces close together as she ran a palm over his cheek, forcing his gaze to hers.

Tony’s cheek leaned into the touch for just a brief moment.  There was a reason he still flirted with her, and it seemed she knew very well.  Still, his head was full of too many things before he’d even left Bruce’s.  Adding this on was damn near overwhelming.  He spoke carefully, “I’ve been going through a lot these past two days.” _‘Don’taskwhatdon’taskwhatdon’task--’_

A soft sigh emitted from her nostrils.  She dropped the game.  “Tony, I’m not trying to trick you,” Pepper began to explain.  “I’ve been sorting through my own emotions too...”  The words were entirely truthful, and it made her voice pinched as she spoke.  “And what I really want right now is something... familiar.  Something fun and quick that I... that neither of us has to stress over.”

Tony couldn’t help it when his resolve wavered just long enough for her to sneak in that kiss.  Those words spoke to him.  That was what he wanted so desperately at that moment.  Something that required no extra thought or emotion.  Something stress-free that he could tide himself over with until he was better equipped to handle all these questions and worries that threatened to strangle him, but somehow never even managed a blink from Bruce.

Oh right, Bruce...

_‘Isn’t your fucking boyfriend.  You can’t cheat on a fuckbuddy, so cut the sentimental bullshit and hop into bed with her already.’_

He wasn’t quite sure when exactly they’d tumbled into his bed, or when they’d gotten undressed the rest of the way.  It was like he’d turned his brain off for the time being, living entirely in the moment, singularly for the _pleasure_ of the moment.  His hand fumbled around in the drawer of the nightstand for the open box of condoms.  He didn’t need to think about it-- they were all well off from expiration.  No worries, no extra thought.  He readily mounted her, plunging inside without any residual hesitation; Pepper’s head fell back in appreciation, red mouth caught in an O-shape until he claimed her lips with his own.

A part of him he’d lost touch with came rushing back, still well aware of all of those special places that he’d found first, and all those noises he’d been able to draw from her throat, playing into his ears again like they’d never stopped.  It wasn’t possessive, like one might expect from an ex-lover, but it was definitely proud.

“Oh yes, Tony...!” her back arched as her fingers clutched onto his back.

He felt her fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt.  Had he forgotten to take it off?  No, wait.  This was Pepper.  That was normal.  He raised an eyebrow, pondering for a moment and then acting before he could shrug off the thought.  He leaned off of her, just enough to pull his shirt up over his head.  Her shock was written plain on her face.  “Tony, you...”

“Touch it,” he growled huskily.

“Y-your scar...?” the girl asked, confused.  Tony had always hidden this part of himself from her and she didn’t understand why _now_ of all times he would reveal it to her.

“Y-yeah...”  He leaned back over her, their lips barely a breath apart.  “Touch it.  Please.  It’s okay.”

It had to be one of the oddest requests Tony had ever made in bed... nothing like what one would normally expect a teenage boy to ask.  Pepper ran her tongue over her lips, wetting them uncertainly, but she nodded.  Carefully she reached down, lightly skimming her fingertips over the disfeature, cringing ever so slightly at the weird tactility.  “Like this...?”

Tony exhaled slowly.  That was the itch... but she wasn’t scratching it hard enough.  “Like the body of someone you’re having sex with,” he breathed, trying not to sound like he was scolding her.  “It’s kind of attention-starved.  And really sensitive.  Like that spot on your neck...” Tony finished, leaning down over said spot and nibbling gently.  Her inhibitions fell as her chin tilted upward to give him more room to sink his teeth.  “No hickeys, I promise.  But you like it too much for me to stop...” the young man paused to murmur into her ear.

“I hate you...” Pepper returned in a breathless laugh.  She tried ghosting her fingers over the incision again with a little more sincerity, trying to treat it like any other sexual favor.

His groan almost caused her to pull her hand away.  “No, no, that was nice,” he reassured her as he peppered kisses up her neck, stopping at and then tracing her jawline, “See?  I won’t break.”

The distinct change in attitude had Pepper somewhat baffled, but she was too engaged to question it.  She was getting close and her hips bucked back into him wantingly.  “Tony...”

“Are you...?” Tony began, not slowing his pace for anything short of a heart attack or natural disaster.

Pepper nodded frantically, squeezing her eyes shut tightly.  All her muscles were clamping into a knot at orgasm’s approach.  Her skin felt hot and tingly.

“Come on, Pep...” he encouraged in a pant.  The sight or feeling alone might have been enough for him.  Both of them together made him question how he’d manage to hold on long enough to let her finish first.

Thankfully he wasn’t left questioning long, because her head tilted back with one last moan that lasted the length of her climax.  She didn’t release her hold around his neck until the pleasure finally began to fade, leaving her with a pleasant buzz of lethargy throughout her body.  “Mmm... Just like I remembered...” Pepper smiled in satisfaction.  Her eyelids fluttered back open, noticing he’d slowed on her behalf and she reached up behind his head to pull him into a grateful kiss.  “Keep going...” she said before sealing their lips.

Tony did so, reinstating motion.  Pepper watched him idly, admiring his face which was currently twisted with pleasure as he rocked himself in and out of her.  She _had_ missed this.  There were no if’s, and’s, or but’s now; she’d confirmed it.  The girl traced a hand along his collarbone until she found the termination of her ex’s scar.  She felt him stiffen inside her at the mere additional touch-- Tony wasn’t lying... it really _was_ a sensitive spot on him.  She couldn’t help but wonder how he’d found out... _who_ had touched him.

The boy grit his teeth as he went rigid, releasing himself into her as deep as he could press in those final fleeting instants.  As soon as he was done, his body sagged, and he could feel the lazy smile spread across his features as he sunk back into the bed.  Pepper had been right, he needed this, to cast aside these new worries and just be himself, be Tony.  It was comfortably familiar, and it might have been the afterglow talking, but he couldn’t even recall what he’d been stressing about in the first place.

The girl rolled over onto her side, running a hand up her ex’s chest with a light smile of her own.  “You look pleased with yourself,” she commented teasingly.

“Been a while since I’ve been there.  Just glad I still know the way.”  He blinked once at his wording, but shrugged it off.

Pepper laughed and leaned up to get another kiss from the boy.

Tony tipped his chin down to meet her lips, pulling back with a laugh, “Oh God.  I just realized.”

“Hm?” she tossed some of her hair over a shoulder.

“Bruce was right.  I mean, he was joking... but he was right.”

Her green eyes rolled as he attempted to hold her in suspense.  “About...?” she obliged him.

“After you broke up.  I asked Bruce if you told him why.  He told me it was because you ‘desperately wanted me to take you back’,” he punctuated with a snicker.

Pepper gave a small laugh of her own.  There was a bit of a ‘correlation not implying causation’ going on, but she hardly felt like discussing the intricacies of _why_ she was so interested in Tony again.  It was exactly those kinds of questions she was avoiding by returning to Tony.  After waiting a moment she inquired, “Would you?”

Tony froze in place.  In fact, it felt like the whole temperature of the room had dropped ten degrees within the span of two seconds.  He was looking for that Butterfinger wrapper again. “Y-you mean, like steady-serious?”  He swallowed.

“Well, I suppose. I don't really know,” Pepper shrugged, waffling.  “I was just curious to know if you would,” she explained, biting her lower lip ever so slightly as she ran her hand along his exposed chest again.

Tony shuddered, and now he felt guilty again.  He chose his words carefully, trying not to trigger anything less than pleasant with unfortunate wording.  After all, she had a key to his house, and could very easily be an evil ex if she applied herself.  He’d told her as much.  “But, I thought you said... I thought you weren’t looking to commit to anything.  I mean, remember Happy?”

She sighed somewhat, rolling onto her back to look up at her ex boyfriend’s ceiling-- interesting choice in decorating... wouldn’t it have been easier to paint stars on rather than printing them out?  She shook her head and spoke, “I don’t know what I want right now...  I guess I just want to make sure you’re not--” Pepper bit off her words before she could say ‘the one’.

“Pep, you can’t keep me safe just by hopping back into bed with me,” Tony chuckled, obviously coming to a different conclusion on how she was going to end that sentence, “You’ve tried before.”

The girl laughed softly, relieved by his obliviousness.  “Well, it was worth a shot,” she joked, giving him a little pinch on the arm, watching him jump.

Tony swallowed, contemplating his words, “You know how I am, right?”  He paused, giving her a knowing look, “Or how I’ve been?”

Her memory went back to the time she’d walked into the school cafeteria, only to find her boyfriend’s tongue down some hussy’s throat.  As hard of an upbraiding as she’d given him, she had eventually forgiven him for the err.  The funny thing was, she didn’t feel herself caring quite the same way this time around.  About the ‘staying faithful’ thing.  Pepper laughed again, rubbing his shoulder to set him at ease.  “I know.”

“You don’t know _everything_ ,” Tony snorted, trying to ignore the tension he really felt in saying it.

“I make it a point not to ask,” she delivered matter-of-factly.

“What if I told you there’s someone else involved here?” Tony paused, licking his lips.  He switched pronouns, more to shield the other teen’s identity than his own sexual curiosity, “She’s not serious, but we’re having fun.”  He ran a hand through his hair.  This was oddly theraputic, and he couldn’t help but vent, just a little, “I think there might be feelings involved, but it’s just really confusing, and God... Pep, I needed this.  Seriously.”

Pepper paused thoughtfully.  She supposed that explained a few things... why he had been so hesitant to jump in the sack, why he’d found a new place on his body where he liked to be touched.  She probably ought to be thankful she hadn’t learned this ‘other lover’s’ name during coitus.  Was it bad she felt just a little bit of sinful pride that she’d lured Tony into bed despite this other seductress?

“Is that gonna be a problem?”  Tony flinched at his word choice.  Was he inviting her back into bed?  Did he even have a choice when she still had a copy of his house key?  And why didn’t the thought of her sneaking into his house to do so worry him as much as he wanted it to?

“No, that’s alright,” she said, shifting her position and propping her head up once more to look at him.

“It is?” Tony raised an eyebrow, “Who are you, and what have you done with Pepper?”

The redhead laughed at herself for how silly and unbelievable that probably sounded to her ex.  Hell, coming from any girl it probably sounded bogus.  “I know it sounds crazy.  But I needed this too.”  Her green eyes flashed.  “You don’t have to take me back.  But it kind of seems like maybe we could both benefit from it.”  She shrugged.  “It’s something to think about.”  The girl rose from the bed and began to gather her scattered garments.

Tony nodded.  It made some twisted sense.  After all, Bruce had Betty to fall back on if this thing didn’t work out between them and ended up souring their friendship (which his insecurities kept telling him was an inevitability). What did he have to fall back on?

“Pep?”

She looked up at him from where she was poised, pulling her undies up.

He smirked devilishly, biting back the guilt he felt, “It’s not too often that we _both_ get our way, is it?”

This was a horrible idea.  A disastrous idea.  A monumentally catastrophic idea.

“One in a million.  Just like you.”  Pepper winked, hooking her bra on behind her back.

“So that’s a yes then?” Tony smiled, and told that nagging guilt to go fuck itself and come back in the morning.

“Yep,” she said with spunk.

Damn it if Pepper Potts didn’t make every idea sound like a good one.

\--

The home phone rang shortly after Pepper had left.  Tony had all but drifted off to sleep when it had startled him back into full consciousness, rolling off of the bed and onto the floor much like one would in a TV sitcom.  Rubbing his hip, he sat up and reached out for the landline which was blaring from its cradle on the nightstand, just beyond the alarm clock.  With a grumble he pulled it to his ear, “Whaaat?”

“Hey,” Bruce vocalized-- it sounded likely he’d woken his friend.  “All’s quiet on the Western Front.”

Tony knew the voice, and instantly picked up on what he meant.  A smile spread across his lips, “That’s great.  Though next time try my cell.  I wouldn’t have fallen out of bed if I’d heard your ringtone.”

Bruce gave a soft snort, visualizing that.  “Your cell is still _off_ , genius.”  He smiled despite the sarcastic delivery.  “Otherwise I would have texted.”

“Oh God... I can only imagine how many angry messages I’m gonna have to delete when I flip that back on.”

“A few, I imagine,” Bruce paused to exhale a lungful of smoke.  “Anyway, I just figured I’d let you know.”  He shrugged and added, “Since you were concerned.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Tony responded sincerely.  Though something was piquing his curiosity.  “Not that I’m complaining, mind you,” he started, rubbing his eyes, “But you don’t sound like someone who _just_ managed to avoid a domestic dispute.”  He raised an eyebrow, “Not to mention you’re still smoking.  I can hear you.”  The terseness of Bruce’s replies gave it away too.

The young man gave a mumble, caught in the act; he pulled the vice away from his lips.  He should have been able to resist tonight, considering how things had ultimately panned out positively at home.  Somehow, still, the chain of events had managed to worry him.  “You sure you wanna know?”

Tony chuckled, “Well I could always hold your moped hostage until you tell me...”

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you,” Bruce said.  “They’re having sex.  I think I can hear the bed thunking from out here,” he tacked on.  “It’s been like that the past...” he pulled up his sleeve to glance at his watch, “forty minutes.”

“Oh my God!” Tony laughed, somewhere between amused and mortified, “You got sexiled by your _parents?!_ ”

“‘Sexiled’?” Bruce repeated flatly.  He rubbed the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger.

“Yes, sexiled.  You’ve been ousted from your living space by sex-related noise and/or eye pollution,” Tony explained matter of factly.  “Someone needs to brush up on their bro-cabulary.”

“I _knew_ what you meant, it’s just an incredibly asinine term.”  Here they went again.  Bruce returned the cigarette to his lips.

“Anyway,” Tony rolled his eyes, “The Hell brought this on?  Your dad looked pissy enough to ram the ‘stang while I was pulling out.”

“Mom said she was looking for a job.”  That was the answer, but not the explanation.  Bruce didn’t _know_ the explanation-- he was still trying to puzzle that one together.  Because until the instant the man had embraced her, Bruce still thought he disapproved and was going to lash out.

Tony bit back a joke, “You think he’s not big on stay-at-home moms?”  Great, that still sounded like a joke.  “I didn’t mean it that like... well, you know what I mean.”

Bruce shook his head, too deep in thought to pay Tony’s comment too much mind.  “...I don’t know.  I’m just glad they’re not fighting.”

“Same.  And if you smoke that any louder I swear I’m gonna ask for one.”

He issued another snort.  “I left you one.”

“Stay where you are.”  Tony smirked, “I’ll come get you.”

“Fine.  I’m not going anywhere for awhile, trust me,” Bruce muttered.  His parents had been at it this long, they were liable to be going longer.

“You sure?”  He was certain Bruce could hear his grin over the phone, “I don’t think they’d miss you.  At least not if you left a note.  Besides...” both the pout and the puppy eyes were evident in his voice, “...weren’t we gonna put the lights up tomorrow?”

Bruce cogitated the statement, mind drifting off to _other_ things they might do tomorrow.  “Something like that.”

“Well I can’t have you dozing and falling off the ladder, now can I?” Tony scolded.  “Which means you need a night of decent sleep with minimal poltergeist activity.  Geez, I thought you could put two and two together.”

Tony was being clingy again.  But Bruce didn’t have it in him to argue.  “Greedy.”

“Don’t blame your inability to say no on me.  I’ve grown on you.  It’s your fault.”

Bruce took one last pull before butting out his cigarette on his sole.  It probably was.


	22. Chapter 22

“Alright, so Betty said we’re meeting her in the food court?” Tony piped up over AC/DC’s 'T-N-T' blasting from his sound system.  He saw the exit sign coming up on his right and flipped his signal on, even though the traffic was fairly clear, especially for this time of year.

“Yeah,” Bruce confirmed, looking up only briefly from the book in his hands.  He was glad they were nearly there, it felt like his earbones were ringing, even if he had learned how to tune it out enough to read.  It was bound to be just as noisy where they were going.  Betty had suggested they get together again before Christmas, and Bruce, remembering that Tony had wanted to play DDR but they’d never quite gotten around to it, suggested the arcade in the mall.  Bruce had made sure to wear the shoes Tony had bought for him even.

Tony reached for the volume control, turning his music down enough to be heard better.  “Hey, uhh, before we get there... I wanted to ask you...” he swallowed.  He’d never exactly had the opportunity to tell Bruce like Betty had suggested.  He’d made plenty of attempts the past week, but it almost seemed like Bruce knew what he was going to say, and was making up excuses so he didn’t have to hear.

_‘Or maybe I’m just paranoid and he’s doing his typical question-dodging.’_

He licked his lips, “You think you’d be interested in--”

“Exit’s coming up, Tony.”

The young man cursed under his breath and jerked the wheel to the side, braking down the off-ramp.  He made a stop-and-go at the intersection and pulled into the parking lot.

“What is it you wanted to ask?” Bruce shut his novel and adjusted his glasses, shooting his friend a curious look.

Tony scratched the back of his neck.  Once again, he’d lost his nerve.  If he’d ever had it to begin with.  Maybe he could get an answer if he tried a different approach...  “Have you spoken with Pepper lately?” he asked off-handedly.

It was Bruce’s turn to nervously rub the back of his neck.  “Ah... not since we started... you know...”  And they had been ‘you knowing’ a lot.  Winter break gave ample time for messing around during otherwise uneventful hours.  To be frank, he’d been neglecting the novel currently folded in his lap.  Normally a book of its length he would have had finished in the span of three days or less, but he’d been trying to finish it for the better part of a week.  “Why do you ask?”  Without school, he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her.

Tony cleared his throat, “Well she came by that Sunday night after I came back home.  Before you called and I picked you up.”

“I bet that was a fun conversation...” Bruce chuckled softly, imagining the tongue-lashing the other teen had likely endured.  From what he knew of the girl, she was always quite vocal and she probably had a lot to say after that emotional whirlwind of a weekend.

“Oh, we didn’t talk much,” Tony chuckled, attempting to play it as flippant as possible, “Which reminds me, what’s your opinion on monogamy?”

Bruce lifted an eyebrow.  “In a marital context or sexual...?”

“Which one do you actually have prior experience in?” Tony scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“I suppose the latter, technically.”  His lips pursed suspiciously.

“You’re slow as Hell sometimes, I swear.”  Tony shook his head, getting out of the car, “I had sex with Pepper.”

The teen felt one of his eyes twitch.  So that’s what all the questions had been leading up to.  Bruce found it... interesting, or as interesting as it could be, that Tony had chosen to be upfront about said occurrence.  It was ordinarily the kind of thing people went to great lengths to cover up and hide from the other people in their life.  Then again, his and Tony’s... relationship... was purely sexual, it didn’t have the romantic underpinnings that would delineate the concept of ‘faithfulness’.  “Am I supposed to be upset?” he asked legitimately.

_‘Yes.’_ “No.”  Tony shrugged, but his heart sank just a little, “You’re the one who called it.  Remember?  I just asked because you might be skeeved out about sharing me.”

Bruce exhaled, committing his hands to his pockets.  “I guess she must have been as worried about you as I was.”  He managed a hard chuckle.

That felt like a little bit of a slap to the face to Tony.  “Hey, she didn’t do it because she was worried about me.  She missed me.  She wanted to get back together.”

“Oh,” was Bruce’s sole response.

“We’re not,” was Tony’s.  “It’s just sex.  I’m good at that.”  It sounded a bit more snippy in his head.

Bruce tried to laugh it off.  “Could be better,” he ribbed.

Tony laughed, but it was forced.  So was the light shove to Bruce’s shoulder, and the added sarcasm of his response.  “Better than nothing, big guy.”  Bruce couldn’t tell, or he wouldn’t acknowledge it.  Tony was far past done with this topic, so he allowed the other teen to dodge the original question.  He hoped he wouldn’t have to try too hard to enjoy himself now.  “Let’s go find Betty,” he suggested.

Bruce nodded.  “Yeah, let’s do that.”

\--

Betty spotted the two boys approaching from afar.  She lifted the hand not grasping her Orange Julius to flag them down with an excited wave, “There you are!  Come sit with me!”

Bruce felt his spirits lift significantly upon finding her among the crowd.  With a smile he embraced her before moving to pull out a chair at the table that had no doubt taken hawk-like skill to secure with the number of people clamoring for a seat.  “How’ve you been?” he asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Tony sat down silently.  Betty directed a questioning look towards him.  He knew what she was asking and he shook his head.  She sighed and turned to answer Bruce, “I’ve been just fine.  How have you two been?”

“I’ve been great,” Tony answered for himself.  Okay so maybe he was thinking petty, but Betty needed to stop asking them as a pair.  Hopefully Bruce appreciated it.

Bruce lowered his gaze down to where his fingers were interlaced resting on the table.  “Pretty good, actually...”  He might have stopped there, but felt compelled to go on.  He elaborated, “My mom is going back to work in January.  Dad pulled a few strings I guess, got her her old position back at the laboratory.”  It was still confusing for him, but the improved situation at home had given him a glimmer of hope in what he’d formerly resigned to being a hopeless one.

Betty’s eyes brightened, “That’s great!  Tell her I’m so excited for her!”

Bruce nodded, her elation drawing a smile to his lips.  “I’ll be sure to.”  He chuckled again.  “It’s been almost twenty years since she quit...”  It made him feel a little self-conscious to say so, but denying the reason she had left couldn’t change that she had or why.

“I’m getting food.”  Tony stood up from his seat, “Anyone want anything?”

Bruce considered the mall-fare.  “I’d share a pretzel.”  He wasn’t hungry enough to consume a whole one by himself.

“Noted,” Tony hummed, stepping back from the table.  He couldn’t help but smirk at the idea of Bruce actually _asking_ to share food.

The teen watched his friend disappear into the throng.  He sighed somewhat, leaning harder into the tabletop.  “I just hope she fits in and gets along with everyone after so long.  Is that stupid?” he asked the girl sitting across from him.

“No, of course not,” Betty waved dismissively, “It’s only natural to worry.  She’s been a stay-at-home mother since before you could remember, right?”

Bruce nodded pensively.  “She took her maternity leave and never went back,” he explained.  It was something he’d been thinking about approaching his father about, but hadn’t yet summoned the courage to do so.

Betty nodded back, taking a quick sip from her Julius.  “See, this is probably how she felt when she sent you off on your first day of school.  It’s okay to let go sometimes,” she tacked on sappily, hand reaching out to rest over his.

Bruce chuckled and turned his hand over to squeeze hers, appreciative of her insight.  “Yeah, you’ve probably got that right.”

\--

Tony held his blackberry smoothie with one hand, fishing for his wallet with his other hand so he could pay for his pretzel and rejoin the trio.  “Okay so I owe you...” he felt a moist weight pulled out of his hand quickly, and he whipped around, “Hey!  Who the Hell do you think--”

“Well just look at who I found?” a very smug-looking Pepper said between sips of the teenage boy’s smoothie.  When she’d spotted the back of her ex’s head in line, she just couldn’t help but come over to pester him.  “Tony, why didn’t you tell me you were coming out to the mall today?”  She bit the straw flirtatiously.

“Bro time?” Tony swallowed.

The girl leaned out somewhat to cast a look first to the right, then to the left, her ponytail miming the motion.  “If that’s the case, you might want to go over to the Lost and Found booth and file for your missing half.”

“Did he run off or something?” Tony asked, tossing a glance back towards the table they’d been sitting at.

Her green eyes scanned again, the boy’s line of sight helping her spot aforementioned ‘bro’.  Along with someone else who was sitting conversing with him.  “Who’s that with him?” she inquired.  As far as she was aware, the presence of females violated the sanctity of ‘bro-time’.

“That’s Betty...” Tony muttered off-handedly.

“Hm...  She’s pretty,” Pepper noticed, drinking more smoothie.

“Hate to burst your bubble, Pep, but she’s got a boyfriend already.”

Her eyes rolled-- Tony _would_ make a suggestion like that.  “That wouldn’t be you, would it?” she gave him a playful scrutinizing gaze.

“Me?  What?  No!  God!  She’s just a friend from Bruce’s old school.”

Her ex’s physical reaction spoke truth enough to the words (besides, Betty's hair didn't have nearly enough red in it to get Tony's attention).  She shrugged and stirred the smoothie with the plastic straw.  “Just trying to figure out who your ‘mystery girl’ is.”  She switched topics.  “So, would it be alright if I tagged along?”  Pepper gave a little bounce on her heels, her cheerleading nature shining through for just an instant.

“I hope you brought quarters,” Tony snorted.

Pepper’s lips turned up at the implication.  “I think I have a few in my purse.”

“Okay, you’re in.”  He smirked, before turning halfway back to the counter of Auntie Anne’s Pretzels, “Now let me pay for my pretzel before the line mutinies.”

\--

He and Betty had moved on to the topic of the next bookclub meeting when Tony returned.  He’d acquired food and drink like he said he was going to, but who he’d come back with was an... unexpected addition.

Bruce halted mid-sentence.  “Pepper,” he addressed the redhead.  Normally a surprise appearance from her wouldn’t have bothered him in the least, but considering what he’d learned less than half an hour ago, he found it hard not to factor said data into the equation that dictated his response.

“Hey Bruce,” she greeted back cheerfully.  “You boys been staying out of trouble on break?”

Bruce cleared his throat.  He made every effort to remain non-partial and keep things from being awkward.  “Ah, you know, as little as is to be expected with Tony involved...”  He chuckled guardedly.  “Some extra tinsel _might_ have accidentally landed in the Rogers’ yard.”

Tony laughed, closing his eyes as if to replay the memory of the day he and Bruce had spent decorating the Stark mansion, “Heh, yeah...  At least Steve was a good sport about it.”  He took a monstrous bite of cheese-filled pretzel before passing it to his friend.

“Steve Jr. made a life size snow-Batman in Tony’s front yard,” Bruce explained to the two girls, adjusting the paper wrapping around the baked knotted dough before taking a bite himself.  He added in a faux-secretive tone, “Tony almost cried.”

“I did not!” Tony stuck out his tongue.  “And Batwuss aside, you have to respect a guy who can counter-prank Tony Stark.  I mean, the guy did his research, went straight for the throat.  And then my dad had the _audacity_ to suggest we keep it.  As if!”

“It was a good likeness,” Bruce pointed out.

Pepper laughed before her eyes moved over to the other girl in the group, not wanting to seem rude.  “Hi, I’m Pepper.  Tony’s ex,” she stated her relation pointedly, not wanting to confuse matters.  She didn’t know where Tony’s head was at on their... recent re-intimacy, but she certainly wasn’t willing to go public on being ex-exes just yet, if ever.  She gave the boy beside her a friendly shove; he laughed nervously.  “He tells me you’re Betty.”

Betty smiled politely, standing to extend a hand, “Oh, yes, hi.  It’s nice to meet you.”

Pepper took it with a businesslike air.  “The same,” her freckled cheeks pulled into a smile before sitting with the rest of them.  “You must be a brave kind of girl to hang out with these two lunatic love-birds.”

Bruce paused thoughtfully as he chewed.  This was weird.  Pepper wasn’t treating he and Tony even remotely differently than every time before.  Had Tony _not_ told her about them?  His gaze slid over to the young man sitting to his right and made a motion to return the baked good.

Tony rolled his eyes at Pepper’s statement, Bruce’s glance lost on him for the moment.  He took the pretzel back without looking, but opted not to take a bite in favor of speaking, “You’re never going to stop with that, huh, Pep?”

“Not while it’s still funny,” she shot back, hand reaching from behind to goose him, causing him to jump just a little.

“Stop that!” Tony warned, caught somewhere between amusement and embarrassment.

Bruce felt his eyes avert involuntarily.  Betty’s eyes, however, did not.  They only flicked briefly back to Bruce before parting her lips to respond to Pepper’s question, “They’re usually courteous enough to hang a sign on the bedroom door, actually.”  She smiled sweetly, ignoring Tony’s scoff and Bruce’s head shake.  “And you get used to the sound of explosions.  After a while it’s almost like a lullabye!” she punctuated with another sip of her Julius.  She looked back up and noticed Pepper’s hand hadn’t left Tony’s back.  “Are you sure you’re exes?” she asked in a tone that was half-joking, half-curious, “You seem _pretty_ close.”

Tony’s jaw clenched and he willed Pepper to say nothing.  Betty would go ballistic if she’d found out exactly how _little_ progress he’d made on the Bruce front.

Pepper fielded the question with a shrug.  “I’ve never bought into that whole ‘vengeful exes’ thing, it always seemed really pointless and petty to me.  Besides,” she flicked the boy’s ear, “Tony creates enough trouble for himself without me making any for him.”

Bruce felt himself speak up in a mumble.  “You can say that again.”

Tony snorted, “I’d like to think that you’ve caused your fair share of trouble, Pep.”  He pointed an accusatory finger, but his conviction wavered under her viridian glare.  “Well, at least fifteen percent of it was you.”  She folded her arms crossly and he kept going, a bit meeker, “An argument could be made for twelve...”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Bruce tugged on the boy’s opposite ear enough to make him yelp and tip his head to the side to relieve some of the pressure.  Bruce took back the half-consumed pretzel in his friend’s distraction and tore into it with his teeth.

Tony yelped and rubbed at his ear once the other boy finally released his grip.  That was a little more forceful than necessary, even for Bruce.  He was starting to get this dreadful feeling that between Bruce and Pepper, he’d probably never dominate a conversation (or any social endeavor that happened to include the both of them, really) again.  He wondered briefly if the two of them were more than he could handle at once, because at the moment, he felt more rag doll than human.  If they didn’t watch it, this was about to become a game of tug-o-war...

\--

As Tony had predicted, the arcade was nearly empty, the multitude of consumerist sheeple more concerned with crossing off their Christmas lists than gaming.  There was no crowd, no lines, only two or three kids younger than them that had likely snuck away from their families in the chaos or had already finished their shopping early.

Pepper tried not to give away how stupidly excited she was to be here-- she never would have thought to come by herself, but when Tony had mentioned quarters, she knew _exactly_ where they were headed.  She and Tony had spent countless hours of their youth wasting whatever allowance or birthday money they had been given (which in Tony’s case was a lot) on the electronic games, besting one another or playing cooperatively.  And those memories came rushing back upon stepping foot into the noisy, dimly-lit room, monitors and lights glowing and flashing all around them, their coin slots tempting them.  “So what’s first?” Pepper posed, digging through her purse for the loose quarters rattling around in the bottom.

Betty pulled her clutch out of her book bag, extracting a ten, “Well I’m going to go get change first.  I haven’t seen the line that short since last summer when half the machines were out of service.”

“I’m going to do the same,” Bruce spoke, removing a bill of the same denomination from his wallet.

Tony handed Betty a fifty, and plucked a small tupperware bowl out of his open bag, “Please and thank you.”

Betty gave Tony a look that said ‘We need to talk later.’ but took them anyway.

Tony turned to Pepper, who was jingling several shiny 25¢ pieces in her hand.  She was wearing an almost provocative smile.  He glanced over to Mortal Kombat, then back at Pepper, raising an eyebrow.  The proposal needn’t be stated.  The two of them dashed off to the machine together, just the way they would have when they were eleven.

Bruce was notably wordless as he eased his money into the change-machine on the far wall.  As it began to spit quarters noisily into the metallic catch bin at the bottom, he studied Tony and Pepper clowning around in the character-select screen, fighting over who would get Smoke.  What he felt wasn’t resentment, or longing, he was merely observing and attempting to puzzle through this new circumstance that had been presented to him.

”Ground control to Bruce?  Hello?” Betty huffed, tapping his shoulder again.  She wondered if he had any idea how obvious his staring was to the rest of the room.  The near empty state of the arcade was irrelevant.  That level of obliviousness, however adorable, wasn’t a good thing to make a habit out of.

The contemplative teenager shook his head.  “Uh... sorry,” he collected his coinage with an embarrassed chuckle.  “Got lost in thought.”  He stepped aside so she could use the machine.

“Oh, I’m sure you were...” Betty hummed nonchalantly, doing her best to de-wrinkle her ten dollar bill before feeding it into the machine. 

Bruce flip-flopped between decisions, weighing them in his mind.  He knew he seemed distracted on the outside, and there was a reason.  He just wasn’t sure if he should share.  Or if he chose to, how _much_ he should share.  Finally, he decided.  Bruce turned to his female friend.  “Betty, can I trust you with something?”

Betty held back a squeal and made sure her face didn’t betray her excitement, “Of course, Bruce.  What’s on your mind?”

He smiled at that, lowering his gaze to the floor a moment.  “Thanks.”  He lifted his eyes to her face again.  “I...  Well...”  How to best word this?

_‘Come on... Just say it...’_ Betty drummed her fingers on her thigh impatiently, thankfully out of Bruce’s field of vision.

“Tony and I are kind of... friends with benefits,” he delivered at last, letting out a slow, cathartic exhale through his nose.

“Are you serious?”  She was feigning confusion purely for Tony’s benefit now.  Though it was kind of cute how worked up Bruce was getting over sharing the information.

“Y-yeah,” he found himself admitting.  He wrang his hands, “for about, um, about a week now.”

“Oh my God...” she pulled her hands up to cover her mouth, just as much to feign surprise as to hide the wide grin that even Bruce would recognize as having known and not simply amused.

Bruce cleared his throat uncomfortably, temporarily lapsing back into silence.

“Oh wow, that’s...”  She knew she was laying it on a bit thick at this point, but she wanted to make sure he didn’t interpret her response as anything less than supportive.  “That’s just the cutest thing ever!  No _wonder_ you didn’t kiss me back!” she added, slapping his arm playfully.  Okay, so maybe that last one was for her own amusement.

The teenage boy suffered a long moment of difficulty speaking.  “It’s not...” he began and stopped-- he couldn’t explain this to her.  Why had he thought he could?  And in the middle of a noisy arcade.  He was an idiot.

“Bruce, you’re clamming up again.”  Betty put her hands on his shoulders, “Relax.  I’m not going to judge you.”

“Th-there’s a lot to it...” he said.  Later would be a better time.  He keyed on one of her words.  “We should relax, you’re right.  You want to play some air hockey?”

“That sounds fine for now,” Betty surrendered.  He knew better than to expect she’d drop the subject for good when he was this worked up.  “You need a minute?  You’re stuttering.”

“I’m fine.  It’ll go away,” he assured, but he was smiling a bit again.  Betty was telling the truth, she didn’t judge, not even on the rare occasion he became an emotional trainwreck.

“Alright.  Red or Blue?” she gestured to the air hockey table.

He wasn’t partial to either, but he knew which Tony would’ve picked in a heart beat.  He stepped around to his chosen side of the illuminated table.  “I’ll go for red.”

Betty nodded, cracking her knuckles daintily as she took her side.

Game face on.

\--

“You know, if you just give up now, it makes losing a lot easier to handle in the long run...!” Betty quipped, blocking her goal furiously as the puck clacked back and forth between the two teens.  Both were only one goal away from victory, and neither were backing down.  If there were more people in the arcade to begin with, a small crowd would have likely gathered to watch.

“Just the opposite.  If I let you win, Tony won’t let me hear the end of it.”

“He’d lose just as quickly as you’re about to,” Betty clicked her tongue, putting an extra kick into the subsequent shot.  Bruce blocked it with little strain, but she was chipping away at his defense little by little, “I have to say though, I’m actually surprised you’ve been able to maintain focus for this long.”

“It’s more--” he struck the puck away-- “a matter of--” again-- “reflexes than mental coordination.”

“So you’re--” _‘clack’_ “telling me--” _‘click’_ “poor focus--” _‘ka-clack’_ “won’t screw up your reflexes?”

“Not if you achieve the proper--” a narrow save-- “disassociation.  They operate in completely different--” _‘clack-clack’_ “areas of the brain.”  He risked half a second to pushing his glasses back up as the rigorous activity gradually caused them to slip down his nose.

“You know--” _‘clack’_ “you were--” _‘click-clack’_ “doomed from the start, right?”

He had been forced into operating in a defensive mode, keeping his goal protected while she sent volley after volley.

“Oh wow, look at them go!” Pepper exclaimed, bounding up to the table, pulling Tony along by the hand.  Apparently they’d played-out Mortal Kombat.  She lifted her arms and started to cheer from the sidelines, “Give me a B, give me an E, give me two Ts, give me a Y and tell me _whyyy_...!”  She spun her hands out in front of her as if she had pompoms, “Because that spells ‘Betty’!”

“Nah, the big guy’s got this,” Tony smirked.  “You can do it, Bruce!”  He clapped his hands.

Bruce felt his grip on his paddle slip a bit.  Okay, maybe poor focus was a potential concern.  He tried to tune their enthusiastic spectators out.

A sweet, sinister smile graced Betty’s features as she spoke directly to Bruce, voice masked by the cheers, “He’s doing such a good job cheering you on.  You should give him a treat.” 

Bruce chuckled to himself.  He knew where this was going.  She’d been there when he’d balanced the treat on his friend’s nose after all.  For an instant he regained a bit of control over the game.  “I’m not carrying any--” _‘clack’_ “Fig Newtons, but--” he hit the puck hard to his left with a sweep of his arm-- “nice try.”

Betty giggled, “That’s alright--” _‘click’_ “I noticed he’s really--” _‘clack’_ “ _really_ fond of chocolate chips.” _‘Ka-CLACK!’_

Bruce faltered at the mention of the kitchen incident.  The puck ricocheted off the right wall and sunk right into his goal; the machine issued a boisterous jingle, flashing her victory overhead.  Bruce face-palmed.  Pepper gloated.  Tony paled.

Once the shock wore off, Tony whirled around in search of the Time Crisis machine.  He needed to shoot something.  Preferably something with a blocky human face.  That being said, it wasn’t much of a surprise when Bruce silently took up the second player spot upon catching up to his friend.  Betty and Pepper ran off to play skeeball.

“My bad,” Bruce mumbled sheepishly over his shoulder.

Tony licked his lips thoughtfully, shooting a knife-wielding terrorist in the throat before stepping off the pedal to reload quickly, “I think the appropriate term is ‘Jenga’.”

Bruce lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t speak in favor of scoring several chest shots.

“I _told_ you she cheated...” Tony hummed.

\--

“Alright Miss Ross, I’m taking you on first.”

The DDR machine had been blaring for attention non-stop, as it was programmed to do, running through a sequence of blinding lights and sample tracks booming through the speakers as the demo ran on-screen.  It was a quarter-gobbling device-- three for a single play, and if you weren’t any good you were liable to go broke trying to _get_ good.  Bruce stepped back to watch his two friends duke it out, curious to see how events would unfold.

“Stalling won’t help you, Tony,” Pepper shot her ex a winning look.

Tony gave a snorting laugh.  “Oh no no no, I’ll be playing against you soon enough.  And you too, big guy.”

Bruce folded his arms on his chest.  “A round-robin tournament?”

The other boy considered it, stroking his goatee.  “Everyone plays everyone else?  Yeah, that sounds good.”  His natural grin came back as he popped three quarters into the first-player pad and three into the second-player for Betty.  “And whoever wins has to buy everyone else consolation ice cream.”  He paused and then added, “To soothe the burn.”

The dark-haired girl shrugged, positioning her uggs over the left and right arrows.  “I haven’t played this before, but I suppose you have to beat me at _something_.”

“I’ll set it to basic,” Tony said, affording the girl a little mercy.  Besides, it would give him the chance to warm up.  He brought up the song list, “Pick your poison.”

Betty scrolled through a few before stopping on one that resonated with her.  Plus it didn’t sound too fast, “This one will do.”

“'Murder on the Dancefloor'?” Tony hummed, “How appropriate.”

“Ha ha,” Betty responded flatly.

“This is a full song too, not the little ninety second snippets the official licensed machines give you.  You sure you’re up to it?”

“I said this one will do, didn’t I?”

“Okay, okay!” Tony held up his hands in surrender.  He smirked and hit the start button.

The song began to play and arrows began to scroll upward on-screen.  They moved at a stately pace, no two too close together, a few doubles intersparsed here and there on key notes in the song.  Betty did pretty well for her first ever try, keeping in sync with the beat, though a few times she got her right and left feet mixed up for upcoming arrows.  Tony meanwhile made it a point to stretch his arms above his head and yawn during the middle of the playthrough, the difficulty no challenge at all.

The results displayed on-screen; Betty had been bested by a couple thousand points.  Tony set a new record, but skipped putting his initials in with a look of disinterest.  “Who’s next?” he grinned.

Bruce and Pepper exchanged looks.  They spoke simultaneously.  “I’ll go.”; “You go.”

Tony kept on grinning, dumping in more quarters as his best friend stepped up to the pad.  “Alright, big guy, what do you think?  Basic for you too?”

Bruce hummed.  “It doesn’t look so hard.  It’s just moving your feet.”  He could do Jiu Jitsu, he should be able to put his feet on squares in a set configuration.  “Let’s go for the intermediate setting.”

“That’d be Basic,” Tony replied, “I never recommend beginner, it’s so easy it’s actually counter-productive in most cases.  At least for people who are looking to learn how to play.”  He rolled his eyes.  “You wanna try Difficult, then?” his eyes almost lit up at the thought of a challenge.

“Sure,” Bruce shrugged.  “What’s the worst that can happen?  You finally find a game you can beat me at.”  He shared a grin.

“Beat isn’t a strong enough word.”  Tony cracked his knuckles and brought up the song list, stopping at a familiar title.  The preview clip blared from the speakers.  It was one of the songs that Pepper’s squad had been dancing to at the bonfire, but obviously in another language.  Likely Korean, unless Bruce needed to brush up on his international dialects.

“‘Run Devil Run’?  I swear I’ve heard this one before.”

“Explains why Sung-min Lee was the only one on the squad who knew the song...” Pepper thought out loud.

Bruce felt like facepalming again.  “You’re going to pick this one, aren’t you?”  After all that joking about fallacies.

“I was just looking,” Tony replied with false innocence.  “But if you really want to, who am I to say no?” he finished, switching them to Difficult and slapping the start button before Bruce was even able to open his mouth.  The boy turned a look of great concentration to the screen ahead.

“Remember, Bruce!  Disassociation!” Betty called from the sidelines and he really had to wonder if she wasn’t rooting for Tony on this one.

A medley of double arrows approached the outline arrows at the top, and Bruce didn’t really pause to think about how many there were or how fast they were approaching-- if he did that, they’d already be gone and he’d have missed them-- he jumped to put his feet on the corresponding pads.

“Try not to--” Tony started, before hopping to step on two arrows at once, “...bring your feet back to the center.  It’s a waste.  Think from--” he spun on his heel-- “one step to the next.”

“Shouldn’t you have given me this advice _before_ starting the song?” Bruce asked, trying to keep his focus on the multi-colored indicators.

“You’re a fast learner, remember?  And at the risk of jinxing you,” Tony crossed his fingers for show, “You’re keeping up just fine.  I’m impressed.”

Bruce let out a breath.  Their combos were currently the same, though there was a discrepancy in the scores for the number of ‘marvelouses’ Tony had scored in comparison to his ‘perfects’.  Not that he wasn’t amused by his friend’s choice in phrasing.  “It’s either beginner’s luck or I was a tap-dancer in a past life,” he returned.

Tony snorted at the unexpected joke, but retained his rhythm, while Betty and Pepper exchanged confused looks.  They obviously couldn’t decipher what was so funny.

The pattern of arrows was getting more convoluted and difficult to follow, Bruce found his feet reacting fractions of a second off, dropping his combo altogether; he frowned.

“Steady, big guy...” Tony reassured him, eyes not leaving the screen for a second, “Accidents happen.  Don’t let it turn into a pile-up.”

He took his friend’s advice and intentionally let an arrow pass by to re-sync with the meter.  It was easier, somehow, with Tony there beside him making the same steps and motions, almost as if their limbs were being pulled by the same puppeteer’s strings.  If he’d been playing solo, Bruce didn’t think he’d be doing quite so well.  His combo began to rise again, while Tony’s remained unbroken.  The chorus repeated mesmerizingly through his ears... and then, just like that, it ended with a burst of canned applause and wild cheering from the machine.

“Not bad at all, big guy,” Tony whistled, “Bet your legs feel like jelly now, though.”

Bruce drew the back of his sleeve across his forehead; he was sweating now underneath his clothing.  They were a little wobbly.  “Yeah, I think I’ll sit out a turn,” he chuckled.

“Understood,” Tony chuckled in response, “It’s great cardio, huh?”

“Not unlike other things you boys do together,” Pepper ribbed as she moved to replace Bruce.

“I am not dignifying that with a response,” Tony scoffed, subsequently pouting at the sight of another broken high score record, and quickly skipped over entering his initials for the second time.

Bruce raised his eyebrow.  “Should I start calling you Finny?”  Betty groaned at the mention of the novel they’d dissected in book club.

“Oh fuck you,” Tony shot back with a grin, “Make that comparison again and your ice cream is getting poisoned.”

\--

Everyone eventually had a turn against each other, and even Bruce got up to play against Betty and Pepper, winded as he’d been after his first time.  Tony was, not surprisingly, the one with the most wins.  He insisted upon a ‘victory dance’ and chose to ‘beast out’ to Cartoon Heroes in double mode.  He was still as sharp and spunky as he was during his first game against Betty.

Another near-perfect run came to an end, and once again, Tony broke a high score record.

“Aren’t you going to save your record, Tony?” Pepper called out, teasing.

“Pep...” Tony ground out in a warning tone.

“Are you _still_ embarrassed?” the redhead prodded, biting back a giggle.

Betty, who up until a few moments ago had been contemplating what flavor of ice cream she was in the mood for, piped up curiously, “Embarrassed of what?”

“It’s stupid, Betty.  Completely uninteresting.  The pinnacle of un-awesome.  Let’s go get ice cr--”

“Now _I_ want to know,” Bruce interjected.

“Tony isn’t very fond of using his initials,” Pepper stated with obvious amusement in her voice.

Bruce paused.  “What are they?”

“None of your business that’s wh--” Tony started, but was interrupted by Pepper.

“His middle name is Simon,” she spat with no hesitation, leaving Tony to facepalm.  He really needed to work on more efficient ways of silencing people with sensitive information.

“So, it’s Anthony Simon Stark?” Betty asked carefully, letting out a short giggle when her brain put two and two together.

Bruce let out a laugh, folding in the middle to slap his knee.  Tony’s eyes narrowed down on him and it took him awhile to straighten up and recover.  “Apropos, if you ask me.”

“I will never forgive any of you,” Tony spoke darkly.

Still suppressing their laughter (sans Tony), the quartet of teenagers vacated the arcade and headed to the ice cream parlor inside the mall.  They hovered over the chilled glass case, contemplating their many options.  Pepper’s hand slipped into Tony’s again, and Bruce found himself expending quite a bit of brainpower to the task of steadfastly ignoring it.

“Can I help you?” asked the girl behind the counter.

“Peppermint in a waffle cone, please,” Betty requested politely.

“I’ll take a scoop of Pistachio, in a cup,” Bruce ordered after her.  “With graham cracker crumbles on top.  Thanks.”

“Orange sherbet,” Pepper decided with a quick ease, “with gummy bears on a sugar cone.”  She looked to Tony, giving his hand a light squeeze.  “Going to treat yourself as well?”

“Are you kidding?” Tony leveled a gaze at Pepper before turning to place his own order, “Oreo ice cream with strawberry sauce in a sugar cone.  Oh, and sprinkles... No!  Peanuts.  Actually, go ahead and make it both sprinkles _and_ peanuts.”  The teller hesitated for a moment, just to make sure the boy had no other specifications.  Satisfied that her customer was done finally, she turned to assemble the complicated dessert.  “On second thought, put it in a cup.”  She glared at him; Tony grinned sheepishly, “That’s all, promise.”

“I don’t know what’s worse, your indecision about what you want, or your nauseating concoction,” Pepper stuck out her tongue at the boy.

“I am very particular about flavor and texture in my desserts, thank you very much,” Tony defended.  Once all their frozen treats had been bestowed and distributed, he pulled out his wallet and paid.

The four began to cruise along the storefronts as they enjoyed their dessert, making idle chit-chat and friendly conversation, pointing in windows and commenting on items they saw.  They were strung out in a line, with Betty next to Bruce next to Tony who was next to Pepper.  The redhead hummed happily as they went along-- this was exactly the kind of simple fun she’d missed in her relationship with Happy... he’d always been too concerned about making sure everything went perfect, instead of just going with the flow like the boy beside her did.  Tony was spontaneity.  And some part of her loved it.

The girl carefully slid the hand not holding onto her ice cream cone into the back pocket of Tony’s jeans.

Tony cast a careful glance towards Pepper, almost to ask ‘What the Hell are you doing?’.

She leaned in enough to whisper into his ear.  “Today has been so much fun.  You should come to my place after this so we can have a little more...”

Tony swallowed slowly.  If they were alone he would have been running to the ‘stang by now, Pepper in tow.  But they weren’t alone, and he was uncharacteristically self-conscious.  Even if Bruce didn’t care, they carpooled in.  And even if Bruce didn’t care about that, he had a feeling Betty would have a few choice words for him.

“But I’m...” he licked his lips, “...I’m Bruce’s ride home.”

“Oh,” she seemed to pause a moment in thought, licking the orange sherbet.  “Well, just drop him off at his place and swing back by mine,” she provided the obvious solution.

The hushed tones to Bruce’s right drew his attention when Betty had stopped talking.  His brow twitched downward disapprovingly before his logical side could force it in back into check.  Pepper had her hand on Tony’s ass.  Which up until this morning, he’d presumed he had exclusive touching privileges of.

“But...” Tony stopped short of what he’d been about to say.  He’d been planning to spend the rest of the day with Bruce after the mall trip.  Of course saying so would raise some serious questions from Pepper, especially with the knowledge of what she was obviously proposing.  Tony Stark, turning down sex in favor of bro-time.  Not likely.  Tony sighed his surrender.  He could always pick Bruce up afterwards and proceed as normal.  No big deal.  He had a plan.  It was all good.

“I’ll take that as an ‘I’ll see you there’,” Pepper removed her hand and pointed suddenly to a mannequin wearing a lavender peacoat and matching neckerchief.  “Oh Betty, that would look so cute on you!”

“Oh, you think so?” Betty responded.

Pepper nodded.  “Purple clashes too much with my freckles, but your light skin tone would be just right.”

“Maybe that parka would be good on you?” Betty suggested, pointing to a crimson coat in another storefront.  Both boys had all but tuned out for the moment.

Tony’s gaze slid nervously Bruce’s direction.  For a split second, their eyes met, and he could have sworn there was a flare of suspicion behind them.


	23. Chapter 23

Around five o’clock, they broke off. Betty was planning on having dinner with Leonard again, and they’d pretty much walked both the upper and lower levels of the mall twice over, and the two girls had tried on several outfits seemingly only for the purpose of trying them on, because neither bought any of the things they’d sampled in the mirror, much to the confusion of the males in the party.

“Well, this is where Bruce and I take our leave,” Tony turned to address Pepper, opening his arms for a hug, one of the few platonic gestures they would be sharing for the entire trip, “We should do this again sometime.”

“We should.” Betty echoed, pulling Bruce in for a quick hug herself, “I had a great time.”

Bruce hugged her back and withdrew, readjusting his glasses anxiously. “I’ll call you. Uh, you know... to talk,” he finished lamely.

“Of course.” Betty smiled back knowingly, “Whenever you have the time.”

“It was great meeting you,” Pepper went ahead and gave the dark-haired girl a hug, now that they were better acquainted and all. She redirected to Bruce. “And of course it was good seeing you again too, Bruce. As it always is.”

An odd assortment of confusing emotions plagued the young man, but he hugged her back good-naturedly nonetheless. “Yeah, same.” He paused a moment thoughtfully, prodding the inside of his mouth with his tongue. “Actually, could I get your phone number? I don’t think I ever got it.”

“Well of course!” Pepper laughed. “Here, let me see,” she motioned with her hands and Bruce gave her his cell phone. A few quick keystrokes later and she had inputted it into his contacts. “There you go.”

“Thanks,” he nodded, slipping the device back into his pocket. Better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it.

“Can I get it too?” Betty chirruped, offering her cell to the redhead next.

“Oh sure thing!” Pepper agreed happily, repeating the process.

Betty and Tony shared a quick hug finally, and then the group split up to go their separate ways.

Bruce didn’t say much as he and his friend walked across the parking lot. He was still in thought, and as a result, his face wasn’t particularly readable.

“--good time? Bruce!”

The boy shook his head. “Sorry, what? Yeah, I had a good time,” he answered what was probably the question.

“You need to watch it with that zoning out shit.” Tony shook his head, “You’re lucky _I_ snapped you out of it and not a station wagon.”

Bruce tried to chuckle. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

“Anytime,” Tony grinned, a skip in his step.

He couldn’t help but notice how good a mood Tony was in. After a day at the arcade, why shouldn’t he be? They’d all had fun, himself included. And sure, Pepper hadn’t been initially invited along, but he didn’t begrudge Tony for including her on the chance circumstance that she had been there at the mall and so had they. Not to mention, Betty and Pepper had seemed to hit it off pretty well. Bruce tried to shake the confusing thoughts out of his head; he and Tony had the rest of the day together, to do with as they pleased. When they got into the mustang, Bruce spoke up, “So where to now, your place?”

Tony swallowed, mouth twitching into a frown just slightly, “Ah, about that...”

“Hm?”

“Uhh...” Tony rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He shouldn’t be ashamed to share it, nor afraid to. The fact was that he was a human being capable of making his own sexual decisions, and he didn’t owe Bruce any more than he owed Pepper. Thinking that didn’t make him feel any less like a ragdoll, though. And truth be told, he really had been looking forward to spending more time with Bruce, regardless of whether sex was involved.

The other teen’s apprehension in explaining himself gave Bruce the feeling Tony had made other plans without keeping him in the loop. And if he had to guess from the day’s available clues, those plans involved Pepper, who had been whispering in Tony’s ear earlier. But _he_ wanted Tony to himself that evening.

Well, if it was sex that Tony wanted so bad, he could give that to him. Bruce spoke up again, casually throwing his arm over the seatback, “I’m horny.”

Tony was torn between a grin and a groan, “God dammit. Is it a full moon or something?”

Bruce ignored that and plowed forward. “We haven’t messed around today. And I want to.” He couldn’t have stated it more matter-of-factly.

Tony chortled. Well of course he wasn’t going to say no, but he needed to avoid scheduling conflicts. He pulled out his phone and started to text Pepper, but before he could get far, Bruce had grabbed him by the shirt collar and yanked him into a kiss. To his credit, he really did try to protest. But Bruce seemed to have a natural talent for kissing, because all Tony could do was melt into it with a soft moan. Eventually he managed to regain his senses enough to pry himself free and put the top up. He quickly keyed in a half-assed message and hit send.

“Is anyone home at your house?” he asked, knowing if Bruce kept him too long Pepper would have no qualms about stopping by his house and letting herself in.

Bruce grinned in surreptitious victory. He relaxed back into his seat once more. “Just my mom, but we can tell her we’re playing in my room.”

Tony snorted a laugh, “Wouldn’t be too far from the truth.” He pulled out of the parking space, before adding, “Plus, we still have to get back at them for my first night over.”

Bruce wet his lips. “So you’re staying the night then?”

“You make it sound like I have a choice. Stop that.” Tony smirked.

\--

Pepper scoffed a second time at the message on her phone, re-reading it disbelievingly.

_‘Sorry, can’t make it. I have a thing to take care of. Will make it up to you, I promise. XOXO Tony’_

She huffed, dropping her hands back into her lap. This was the problem with spontaneity. It was all subject to impulse, any little whim could alter everything that came before it. It worked in all directions, not just the direction she wanted it to. She could only guess what ‘thing’ it was Tony ‘had to take care of’ suddenly, out-of-the-blue, without any explanation and flimsy promise tacked onto the end.

Though she also knew that Bruce was likely to blame for this.

She keyed back to Tony retributively, _‘You better. You boys have fun.’_

The girl sighed and skimmed back through her recent old messages while she had her phone out. There were quite a number from Happy that had stacked up. He’d been sending her at least one nearly every day, ‘just to check up on her’. She knew he was just trying to be considerate, but it was more annoying than anything else. They were on a _break_ , what was so hard to understand about that?? She flipped idly through the conglomerate of texts with her thumb, eyes only half focused on what they said.

_‘Still miss you. How are you?’_

_‘Have any plans? I’m open. But I understand if you need more time.’_

_‘I was at Burger King today and I thought of you.’_

_‘I hope you’re doing okay. I think about you all the time.’_

_‘Can we get together again sometime? I really can’t wait to see you again.’_

And they went on and on like that. Tony might have just blown her off in favor of dicking around with his best friend, but that was just typical guy behavior. It was to be expected. Somewhere out there, waiting on a wonder, his ‘mystery girl’ was probably as frustrated as her, if not more so. Pepper laughed very softly to herself. Tony was far too charismatic for his own good. At least she didn’t have to worry about him stalking her, or trying to put a ring on her finger!

Not that he’d ever do that, even _if_ she wanted him to. Which come on, that she’d want him to was _incredibly_ unlikely. Her and Tony? Lawfully wedded? ‘Til death do they part? Oh no no no. Tony and commitment were about as far apart as the earth from the rest of the stars in the galaxy. Make that the universe. Anthony Stark proposing? Just no. It wasn’t going to happen. Not to her, not to _any_ girl.

Pepper shut her eyes. She couldn’t help herself... she remembered the big game... everyone around cheering and taking photographs... celebrating wildly... Happy rushing up to her to grab her around the middle and spin her in a circle before kissing her and pulling something out of his jersey... But when the young man got down on his knee and opened the velvet ring box to present it to her, it wasn’t Happy anymore.

It was Tony. And it was a really nicely sized diamond too.

_‘So rumor has it you’re getting married to Tony Stark,’_ he’d say, faking confusion after a pause, _‘What, no one told you?’_

Stupid. Really, really, really stupid. She needed to stop daydreaming; she shook her head and jammed her phone back into her purse.

\--

As soon as the bedroom door was shut, Bruce went for the other boy’s jacket and shirt, pulling them both off and casting them to the floor without a further thought. Immediately he honed in on the mark emblazoned vertically on Tony’s chest, running his fingers roughly along it, knowing it was one of the quickest ways to get his friend worked up.

“Shit, Bruce...” Tony hissed, “You don’t waste any time...”

“I don’t see any reason why I should,” he countered, swiftly pushing his friend toward the edge of the bed.

“Oh right, I forgot. Master of efficiency.” Tony rolled his eyes.

“What? Are you worried it’ll be all work and no ‘foreplay’?” Bruce teased, tugging Tony’s belt unlatched so he could get at the front of his pants.

“You’d better be joking,” Tony leveled a glare, hooking his thumbs into the waist of his pants to help Bruce ease them off.

The petulant look in his friend’s eyes made Bruce soften up. “Yeah,” he assured him, leaning in for a kiss.

Tony gladly accepted it, claiming the other’s lips hungrily. Bruce found it reassuring to feel Tony’s lips against his... to feel Tony’s excitement pouring into him with each roll of tongue and smack of mouths. It was stupid to have been so over-wrought about what the young man had said that morning in the parking lot. If he’d let on, Tony would have told him he was over-thinking things, as per usual. Bruce kissed him deeper, pressing him into the mattress, letting his fingers once again skim over his scar. Nonetheless, he wanted to leave no room for Pepper in his friend’s mind... he wanted Tony thinking about _him_ and what they were doing.

Tony’s fingers clutched fistfuls of Bruce’s button up shirt, twisting and pulling him closer. He needed more contact, needed that warm body pressed up against his as closely as possible. He’d melt into the other teen if he could.

There was a certain set of words Bruce wanted to hear, and he felt himself asking before he could evaluate whether or not it was appropriate, “Tell me you want me.”

“I...” Tony only hesitated a moment, and that was just to make sure that it was all he said. “I want you...” he breathed out, the words husky and lust-drunk. “You have no fucking clue how bad,” he added, the truth of the statement nearly betrayed by the mildly amorous tone his voice had taken on.

That sent a little shiver through him. “Mm... good...” Bruce hummed, more than satisfied by the answer; he found a new place for his mouth on the other’s clavicle as he rubbed at Tony’s hips, inching the cotton waistband lower. “You had me worried...”

“Worried?” Tony raised an eyebrow. “Why would you be--” he stopped himself, partly because he’d figured out the answer, partly because one of Bruce’s hands had slid into his underwear and was now massaging just above his groin, combing through the hair there. Tony wondered where Bruce had learned to be such a tease, and made a mental note to search for the other teen’s porn stash again. If the way Bruce handled himself in the bedroom was any indication, there were probably some real gems in there.

Though there was still one nagging thought that refused to leave Tony’s mind, practically begging for confirmation, and so he said it before his rational mind had a chance to catch up and prevent it from slipping. “Were you... jealous, Bruce?” His tone was amused but his eyes betrayed concern and apology.

Bruce didn’t establish eye-contact, focused instead on encircling his friend’s length with his hand. He stroked. “For me to be jealous, wouldn’t you have to be with her instead of me right now?”

Tony gave a groan of appreciation, fingers desperately fiddling with the buttons of his partner’s shirt. “Okay first off, you need to invest in some tee shirts,” he panted, pausing only to let out a gasp as Bruce’s thumb slid over a particularly sensitive spot, “...and secondly, the fact that you were so eager to get me here after she was all over me today is pretty damning in and of--” That thought was cut short when Bruce’s other hand gave his ass a hard enough squeeze to leave temporary welts where his fingers were-- notably, the same cheek Pepper had touched earlier.

“Do you want to talk or get off?” Bruce asked.

The response Bruce got was a crushing kiss, as two hands still fisted in his shirt rolled him so that they were on their sides facing each other. A little adjusting and he’d rolled Bruce on his back, himself on top, straddling him and glaring down at those stubborn buttons like the evil obstacle they truly were. Tony was starting to hate button-ups with a passion. Growling, he yanked the fistfuls in opposite directions, sending a few of the buttons flying but ultimately doing the job and revealing more of his companion for him to play with. He allowed his eyes to soak in the view, leaning down to where he’d marked Bruce their first time and planting a quick kiss, and then another.

Bruce’s mouth tweaked into a frown, glancing down at the nearest broken piece of thread that had once kept a button fastened to the fabric but was now lost somewhere in the bedding. It was difficult to resist the urge to push up his glasses and search for it. “I didn’t know you were going to ruin my shirt.”

“I’ll buy you another one. A nicer one. With more obedient buttons...” Tony mumbled into the crook of his friend’s neck, punctuating with a nibble, hands exploring the other’s torso, periodically sliding a hand over the crotch of his slacks.

Bruce gave a snort at the attempt to assuage him. When Tony reached for his groin he bat his friend’s hand away impatiently. “Knock it off; I want to try something. Lift your hips a little.”

Tony’s breath caught in his throat, feeling the tiniest pinprick of apprehension at the back of his mind. He almost questioned it, almost said no, but he reminded himself that he trusted Bruce with nearly everything (whether the big guy knew it or not). He could trust him with this. He nodded and lifted his hips, “Like this?”

Bruce wet his lips and nodded as Tony did what he’d asked. Even he was a little apprehensive about what he was planning to do, but really only for the sake of Tony and how he might react. Though they’d explored a lot of one another in the past week, not everything had been explored, and he felt the compulsion to assert himself a little more now that Pepper was wound up in the mix. Bruce once again took ahold of the erection dangling from the other’s boys legs, resuming where he’d left off.

Tony let out a soft moan, his head tipping back and his eyelids drifting shut.

Bruce took his other hand and cautiously slid it up the inside of Tony’s thigh. He cupped his palm around his balls, fondling for a few moments, just appreciating the sounds it brought forth from his friend. Gradually he let his fingers drift further back, tracing his fore and middle finger over his perineum.

Tony’s breath hitched, “Are you...”

“Trying something,” Bruce repeated his earlier statement. He withdrew his hand for just a moment to lick the tips of his fingers to get them slick before returning to the gentle exploring. He kept his other hand busy jerking his friend’s length as he grazed the entrance to his body.

Tony hummed his appreciation. While it wasn’t a place he was used to being touched, by anyone, he had to admit to himself that it wasn’t a bad feeling. Bruce was almost too good with his hands, and even if it didn’t ease all of Tony’s nerves, it certainly helped.

“Something, huh?” Tony breathed the needless question, licking his lips.

The positive reaction was more than Bruce had hoped for. “Should I keep going?” he asked.

Tony wasn’t sure if they were thinking of the same thing. He couldn’t lie; he’d thought about it more than once since their first time. He sighed out, “I didn’t say ‘stop’ yet, did I?”

Bruce hummed, presuming that meant permission was granted until a time Tony _did_ say stop. He applied a bit more pressure, enough to insert just the tip of his forefinger inside the young man. Gingerly he began moving the digit in a circle, gradually loosening the tight ring of muscle.

Tony took a deep breath. In, then out slowly, allowing himself to get used to the feeling. It wasn’t painful, really, but he didn’t expect it to be yet. As it was, he had a feeling another finger was coming. Alright, so he _might_ have done a few google searches. And maybe, just maybe he clicked a few of the links that popped up. Who knew about.com had an article on anal sex? And, yes, maybe Tony read it over a few times... you know, just in case the situation should present itself in the midst of a fit of passion, or whatever. It wasn’t like it was a big deal or anything. If Bruce needed to use his laptop he’d just tell him he was looking for porn.

After a moment or two more of stretching, Bruce withdrew his hand again so he could wet the rest of his finger with saliva up to the knuckle. Cautiously he began to push it inside, marveling at the warmth and the suction-like grip Tony’s insides had to them. He pumped, waiting for the other teen to clench or protest, but he did neither. This whole experience was exciting Bruce more than he was letting on, getting stiffer in his own pants. He ignored it though, and kept the steady rhythm on his friend’s cock as he wormed his digit the rest of the way inside, searching for the bundle of nerves all the biology textbooks promised was there.

“Ah, fuck...” Tony moaned, knowing exactly what Bruce had managed to find, “Do that again...”

Bruce wet his lips, a little unsure which motion had provided the stimulation his friend wanted again. “This?” he asked as he curled the nestled finger just slightly.

Tony mewled in response, nodding slowly, “Yeah...”

“Think I can get you to cum like this?” Bruce asked, giving the other’s dick a hard rub as he stroked at his prostate again.

“Ah!” Tony groaned, nodding sharply, “But...but... y-you... you’re...”

As hot as his friend’s stuttering incoherence was, it didn’t make it clear what Tony was _trying_ to ask. Bruce lifted an eyebrow.

“Y-you asked if I wa-- ah!” Tony moaned again as a finger hit that bundle of nerves inside of him, doubling him over. God, how was Bruce’s mom not barging in by now? “...wanted you.”

He chuckled. “I did, didn’t I?” He slowed his manual ministrations somewhat.

Tony’s hand found the waistband of Bruce’s pants again, the other propping him up as he leaned forward, “Yeah, and...” He swallowed, taking a moment to steady his voice, all the while not breaking eye contact, “I do.” The hand tracing Bruce’s waistband took a pleasant detour to ghost over his captive arousal, “Preferably out of these God damned jeans.”

It was Bruce’s turn to exhale roughly, hands now coming to a halt; he removed his finger. Tony bit back a whine of regret as Bruce spoke, “I don’t have anything. We can’t really...”

Tony raised his eyebrows, lust clouding his mind from any immediate understanding. After a moment he clued in. “Oh, right. Umm... I wasn’t saying... Well I mean...” His eyes switched focus to just behind Bruce, “I just wanted to touch you.” He smiled shyly, “But, well... if... Yeah, I guess we could, uh...” He swallowed, “I... That felt really, really good...”

“Oh,” Bruce vocalized awkwardly. He shifted underneath the other boy.

“A-and if you really wanted to, then I _might_ have a condom in my pocket, but... yeah, either way, I mean I’ve never... you know, before. And you’re a--” 

“It’s fine. We don’t have to,” Bruce reassured; he didn’t want Tony to think he was pressuring him into intercourse. He muttered softly, “I just feel like if we...” His eyebrows drew together in the middle. “I don’t know. Nevermind. I... I should’ve just let you go to Pepper’s...” the sentiment left his throat slightly pinched and he looked away.

Tony’s eyebrows drew together. “No. No, it’s... I said I’d tell you to stop if I didn’t feel okay with it.” He put his hand on Bruce’s shoulder, “It’s like... I mean of course I’ve thought about it. I just... well let’s not play stupid. It’s kind of... well, scary? And hot as fuck at the same time but... you know...” He swallowed, then steeled his nerves, “I want to. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. Maybe in a month or two. Maybe I’ll be ready and then you won’t. But I want to. Okay? So...”

Bruce felt another chuckle leave him; he sat up a little. “You’re a good friend, Tony. I’ve been enjoying... what we’ve been doing, but I want you to know I still really value that.”

His mother’s voice called from in the kitchen. “Bruce! Tony! Dinner’s in fifteen, sweethearts!”

The young man’s lips pursed. Fifteen minutes wasn’t a whole lot of time. He looked to Tony. “Is it alright with you if we pick this back up later? I could use a smoke.”

Tony let out a short laugh, “Says the guy who had a finger up my ass.”

“You can have one too, if it’ll make you feel any better,” Bruce said, giving him a light cuff on the ear.

“Better than what just happened? The hell kind of cigarettes are you smoking?” Tony purposely misinterpreted the statement, shooting Bruce a smirk as he crawled off of his friend to search for his discarded clothing. Bruce chuckled again and got up to find another shirt in his closet.

\--

The two of them went out to the porch a short while later. Bruce ushered Tony out first, carefully shutting the front door behind him and then going to his typical spot against the pillar where he smoked when he was standing. He removed the pack from his jacket pocket and then pulled back the flap to select a cigarette, placing it between his lips. He’d actually wanted this awhile now-- to stand out here on the porch of his house with his best friend and share a smoke together. Bruce held out the box, offering his second to Tony if he should like it.

Tony took it wordlessly and placed it between his lips, pulling the emergency zippo from his pocket to light both his and Bruce’s cigarettes. There was a calm silence for a little while before Tony broke the ice as usual, “So you’re really jealous?”

Bruce sighed out a breath of smoke at the question. “Yeah, I guess a little.” He contemplated a while longer, tapping off his ash. “I just thought I was the only one doing that for you.” He tried to avoid the other teen’s eyes as he shrugged. He shifted his stance somewhat. “I mean... would you be jealous at all if I had someone else?” he posed then.

“Of course I would be, but that’s different. I--” Tony caught himself a little too late, stuttering to cover it up, “I mean, no, you’re right. Forget it. Sorry.” He took a long puff, exhaled quickly and went to flick the barely smoked butt so he could go back inside, but Bruce grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

“Waste that and I swear I’ll kick your ass again,” Bruce said with a snort.

“...Ah,” Tony responded ever-so-eloquently, and took another pull, when something occurred to him, “Hey, wait... I bought these, you jackass.”

“And I took them. So now they’re mine. I let you have one and you’re going to stay and finish smoking it,” Bruce said with a hint of sternness.

“Fine,” Tony huffed, simultaneously exhaling a lungful of smoke. Well, at least Bruce hadn’t paid attention to his near slip. Maybe he could sit out here and finish after all. He took a seat and the other teen pushed away from the pillar to join him on the stoop.

Bruce hummed around the cigarette in his mouth. “And you should buy more. Or get me a fake ID so _I_ can buy more. I’d settle for one or the other.”

“You know, I really should be bothered by those demands--”

“Suggestions--”

“--Suggestions,” Tony corrected, pointing with the hand his cigarette was currently propped in. “But I just feel like a proud father for getting you to rebel properly. You think there’s a V.I.P. section in Hell?”

Bruce shrugged and kept smoking, gradually tuning his friend’s yammering words out. He had gone back to cogitating-- it was less stressful to do while under the influence of the nicotine. What had Tony meant that it would be ‘different’ if he was involved with someone else? Had he meant the jealousy would somehow be more legitimate? How so? He consolidated his questions down into one. “So how is it different?”

“Ehh they probably have better seats. It’s more of a snobby, rich-people thing. Like, where the CEO’s and big name celebrities go to get tortured and sodomized.” He shrugged and took another drag, “You and I have a ways to go yet; though I’m sure we’ll be used to the sodomy _way_ before we keel over.”

“Not what I meant,” Bruce shook his head incredulously; Tony’s mind was like a mousewheel sometimes, always spinning frantically and never going anywhere much.

“What?” Tony asked, genuinely confused, “Okay, go back. What are you asking?”

“Eh, forget it,” the other teen mumbled. He looked at him with some amusement. “So are you really scared of anal sex?”

“Are you not?” Tony asked, then chuckled briefly when he realized he was pulling a Bruce by answering a question with a question.

“Not particularly,” he responded.

“So... it doesn’t sound potentially... painful, or anything?”

“ _Potentially_ , it does. But presuming it’s approached properly, it should be pleasant.” Bruce paused to take another drag.

“Well, yeah, but... It’s not just that. It’s kind of a heavy decision to make. Trust, and uhh... well, I already said I’ve never done it before, so...” Tony trailed off. His sexual confidence stemmed just as much from his natural charm with the ladies as it did from how well he did what he knew how to do in bed. Bruce wasn’t a female. He wasn’t impressed by the same things a female would be impressed with. And he had no idea how Bruce would react to full male-on-male intercourse, even if Tony did it ‘right’. Tony sighed again, “I just don’t want to mess it up. This has been awesome so far, and I kind of don’t want to spoil it.”

“Mm, yeah, you’re right about that,” Bruce admitted thoughtfully with a smile. Though Tony’s words kind of stirred a happy feeling in his heart, because of the combination of things he’d said-- that he wanted to take their relationship to the next level, and that doing so required trust. Bruce slid his arm around Tony’s back, giving him a sideways hug with his off hand.

Tony leaned into the hug. “I can break it off with her... If it’d make you feel better...” he mumbled, eyes downcast as he fiddled with his fingers.

Bruce gave a laugh. “It’s fine. I understand.” Their conversation had given him some distance from his earlier irrational jealousy, as well as calmed him considerably (though that might have been more attributed to the vice in his fingers). It was a simple matter of Tony’s errant sexual appetite exhibiting itself-- there was never too much of a good thing with Tony. Pepper wasn’t a replacement, she was a supplement. And Hell, if Tony was going to be messing around with _anyone_ on the side, at least Bruce got along with Pepper. She was a fun, kind of no-nonsense girl, which he could entirely respect (in a different life, he might have gone out with her himself). And it wasn’t like the two of them were dating-- Pep had said it herself at the mall, Tony was her ex. It was just sex. That’s what Tony wanted, lots and lots of sex. Having two partners met that end. Bruce continued logically, “I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t ask you to break it off with me, so it wouldn’t seem fair for me to ask you to do the reverse.”

Tony shook his head, not wanting to hear it, he didn’t want Bruce to _think_ he understood. “You don’t get over things that quickly. You pass that anger and worry around from person to person, but you dwell on it until it gets fixed. I know you, Bruce.”

“But I’m not angry. Or worried,” Bruce stated. “I guess I was a little worried before, but I’m not anymore. Don’t worry about it, you’re fine,” he reiterated as he plunked a hand down on Tony’s shoulder to give him a little reaffirming shake.

Tony sighed. He pondered whether telling Bruce would be a bad idea or not. Even if not, it was the closest he’d been to the right moment so far. He took a long drag. He could say it quick, without thinking about it, like ripping off a band-aid. Exhaling he spoke quickly, “Bruce, I really like you.” 

A pair of familiar headlights loomed in the distance, catching Bruce’s attention. The young man’s nose wrinkled. “Yeah, I like you too, Tony,” he returned distractedly. “That would be my dad. We should go inside.” He looked down at his cigarette. If he hurried, he could probably finish the last of it, but he didn’t want to risk getting caught by his father. He took one last quick pull before quickly grinding the remainder into the bottom of his shoe. He lifted the flowerpot, revealing several spent butts, adding the new one to the collection; he held it for Tony to do the same.

Tony’s heart had frozen mid-beat (not literally of course), which was a stark contrast to the mile-a-minute pounding it had done immediately after he’d spoken his mind. He sat stock still, brain trying to work out what exactly had just happened, cigarette burning down idly in between his fingers.

“Hey, come on,” Bruce urged. He took the incriminatory product from his friend and stubbed it out for him, setting the ceramic pot down over it. “Don’t worry, he’s been a lot better lately,” he reassured, grabbing Tony’s elbow to pull him up.

Snapping out of it Tony willed his feet to follow in the direction Bruce was dragging him. He felt a brief but but vivid pain in his chest, almost like an electric current shooting through his heart. His free hand clutched at his chest, but it passed and given the circumstances, he felt it was best ignored.

“No Bruce, I mean--” he stopped when he met eyes with Rebecca Banner, who proceeded to place four plates and sets of utensils into his hands.

“Set the table for me, dear?” she smiled. Tony nodded. Well, that was another opportunity wasted.

\--

Dinner was lasagna, and after they’d all found their place at the dining table and said grace, they each got a steaming square of the pasta and marinara dish that was a little too hot yet to consume without blowing on.

Mr. Banner squared his jaw and addressed the young man seated at their table. “Am I to presume you are staying the evening with us, Anthony?”

Tony was caught off-guard by the question, looking down to poke at his food with a fork while it cooled, “Oh, umm... if that’s okay, Mr. Banner.”

“Perfectly fine,” the man responded agreeably. “It’s been some time we had you over, and as my wife said--” there was a momentary pause, long enough for the couple to exchange almost moonstruck glances and in Rebecca’s case, a radiant smile-- “you’re welcome anytime.”

“Oh, okay. Great. Thanks,” Tony replied, shooting a quick glance over to Bruce, who shrugged, seeming to say ‘See, what did I tell you?’. The fact that his parents were getting along better than they had in years-- in fact, better than he could ever recall-- was as alien to him as it was to Tony.

Brian took a large bite of lasagna. He set down his fork and wiped his mouth with the napkin from his lap, nodding with decided approval. “This is excellent, Rebecca.”

“It is,” Tony nodded, having just swallowed his first bite, “It’s like you trump yourself every time. And Thanksgiving was pretty hard to beat already.”

The woman tittered with delight at the wellspring of compliments. “I’m glad you both like it.”

Bruce hurriedly swallowed his mouthful to add to the conversation. “The basil and oregano really adds to the flavor,” he discerned the two spices from the taste.

“Did you help your mother with dinner?” Brian inquired with a sharp, nearly accusatory swiftness.

Bruce cleared his throat anxiously. “Um, no. I-I didn’t.”

His father clicked his tongue. “You’re going to have to chip in more, Bruce. With your mother going back to work, you certainly can’t expect her to do everything for you like she has all these long years. You’ll have to be a great deal more responsible.”

The young man lowered his nose. “Yes, sir.”

Tony cast an empathetic look Bruce’s way, “It was my fault, actually. I kept him out late today. Sorry about that.”

Brian issued a meditative hum, but Rebecca spoke in his stead. “Oh, tell us how your day went! Did you have fun?”

Bruce nodded. “Yeah. It was me, Tony, Betty and... Tony’s ex, Pepper.” He took another bite, allowing his friend to take over for him.

“Yeah,” Tony noticed Bruce mentioned her last but did his best not to read into it, “We skimmed around for some good last-minute finds, ate, checked out the arcade...” He took a sip of cola from his glass, “Bruce has a natural talent for DDR, we found out.”

Both Bruce’s mom and dad lifted their eyebrows. “Is that the game with the music and all the arrows?” Rebecca made a wild swing in the dark.

Tony nodded, “Yup, that’s the one. You should’ve seen it. It was awesome.”

“Goodness,” Rebecca gave a little laugh. “Well it does sound like you four had a good time then.”

“It was good to see Betty again,” Bruce added on, remembering then that he needed to give her a call. Maybe not tonight, since Tony was over, but tomorrow.

“That reminds me,” Mr. Banner interjected. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about after dinner, Bruce.”

The boy swallowed his current bite uncomfortably, concern and apprehension already pooling in his gut. He’d never once been called up to the study for a conversation that wasn’t going to end poorly. And though his father had been less abrasive these past few days, Bruce couldn’t imagine any positive outcome. Nonetheless, he couldn’t refuse. He nodded another “Yes, sir.” and resumed eating.

They finished their meal, continuing to have a relatively pleasant chit-chat among all four of them throughout. Rebecca pushed away from the table, picking up the glass pan that held the leftovers. “Tony, would you help mommy with the dishes while Bruce talks to his father?” the woman asked in a croon.

“Oh yeah, of course.” Tony excused himself and followed Rebecca’s lead, casting a single nervous glance back towards Bruce and his father.

“Shall we adjourn?” Brian asked his son.

Bruce stacked his utensils on his plate and left it for the other two. “Sure.”

\--

It always felt like a longer walk than it was up the stairs to his father’s study. Especially when he had to walk two steps behind the man. To Bruce, it bore some kind of almost sick analogy to being led up the gallows by his executioner. Brian turned the knob, the noisy latch giving a click before he pushed it open and walked inside. Bruce entered obediently and stood out of the way so his father could close the door and give them privacy.

The man began speaking as he rounded his writing table. “You remarked you saw Elizabeth again today,” he started, taking a seat.

Bruce found himself a bit thrown by the topic and the seeming lack of hostility, but he pushed up his spectacles and responded. “I did.”

“You’ve been seeing her often, I take it.” Brian placed his hands, fingers twined, on the desk, leaning forward in his seat.

Bruce muddled that one over a moment. He had been getting together with her regularly, though not with anywhere near the same frequency as Tony. “Reasonably often,” he settled. “About once a week,” he hazarded a guess.

“Tell me the nature of your relationship with Elizabeth,” it was a loosely-phrased demand. “Are you intimate?”

Bruce tried not to choke. It was bad enough Tony had asked him the same question not too long ago. If this was about to become the proverbial birds-and-the-bees conversation... “No, sir,” he answered firmly. “We’re just friends.”

His father nodded and conveyed a single, solemn, “Good.” There was a pause long enough to make Bruce wonder if their conversation had come to an end on that note, but then the man continued. “Women are the very worst kind of a distraction, _especially_ at your age.” A lofty chuckle left his father’s chest, a sound Bruce rarely ever heard-- he really _was_ in a good mood. He began to pour himself a drink, smiling ever so subtly as he did so. “Much better to wait until you are older and able to provide for a family, as I did.”

Bruce shifted back and forth on his feet, not sure how to respond. A nagging part of him was telling him now would be the time to ask that question he’d had... about his father and mother... _before_ he’d come along. But he stood rooted to the spot, unable to vocalize it, watching as the man in front of him took a slug.

Some sternness returned to his father’s voice. “Too many young people attempt to seek romantic involvement far earlier than they are emotionally ready, when they _should_ be preparing themselves for the working world.” The man glared at him pointedly, the hard creases in his brow only smoothing after an uncomfortable moment. “I’m glad to hear _my_ son has the same prudence as I did in this regard. I do not need to stress you have much more important concerns to address at this point in your life.”

Bruce lifted his fist to cough into it. “No, sir, you do not,” he nodded again to show his understanding.

“I expect you to work _hard_ ,” Brian went on. “I expect you to be diligent in the year and a half you remain under this roof. It’s not really so much for a father to ask of his only son, is it?” The man looked up, establishing eye contact.

Bruce felt like he’d swallowed his tongue. He dropped his gaze to the floor and responded, “No, sir, it’s not.”

“I understand it may seem difficult now...” Brian uttered and Bruce dared to look back up. “But trust me, it comes with its reward,” the man nodded, jowls tight, expression firm, but it was a reassuring expression, one passed from father to son as if to say ‘Keep up the good work.’

He felt a prickling sensation in his eyes and only nodded silently.

“Oh, and your friend, Anthony...” Brian spoke almost as an afterthought.

Bruce felt his body seize up again, halted by the presentation of the question. Was he to assume his father was asking the same question about Tony as he had about Betty? He began to panic, jittering his glasses upward on his nose. Did he really have to answer that?? He started to stutter out a “W-we...”

“...I understand it that he will be over Christmas Eve as well?” the man finished his statement.

Bruce let out a loud sigh of relief. He nodded in grateful confirmation. “Yes. Yes, sir.”

“Hm,” the man didn’t sound pleased, but he did not disallow it. “Very well. You’re dismissed, Bruce. Thank you for coming up.”

The young man nodded and went to the door to let himself out. As he let the latch click shut behind him, Bruce let out another shaky exhale, taking a moment to compose himself. The discussion hadn’t ended in any yelling or threats... and yet somehow he still felt deeply troubled. Even though it had stayed civilized, his brain seemed to be admonishing him where his father had not. How could he dedicate himself to his studies _and_ his new responsibilities at home _and_ Tony? He’d barely had time _before_.

He’d just have to find a way, he determined.

He plodded down the steps and followed his ear out to the living room where the Christmas tree was. Rebecca and Tony were watching TV, the former sitting in the reading chair, the latter lying on his tummy on the floor. Bruce joined him.

“Welcome back,” Tony greeted, only glancing briefly at his friend to gauge his emotional state before his eyes flicked back to the TV screen. He didn’t need to ask out loud; Bruce knew that look already.

“Thanks,” Bruce returned. He lowered his voice somewhat. “Everything’s fine, don’t worry about it.” And when his mom wasn’t looking, he snuck in a quick affectionate kiss on the ridge of his ear.

Tony smiled openly. “Just making sure, big guy.”


	24. Chapter 24

About an hour or so later, Brian Banner came down from his study. The man stooped somewhat to speak into his wife’s ear; she’d been working out of an old organic chemistry textbook, doing problems out longhand on a spiral notebook-- boning up on subjects relevant to her upcoming position at the lab-- but when Brian gently interrupted, she bookmarked her page and set the book on the coffee table. “Daddy and I are going to turn in for the night,” Rebecca told the two boys, coming over to peck the each of them on the top of the head. “Don’t stay up too late watching TV, my angels.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. B,” Tony said through the chocolate chip cookie he’d taken a bite of (there were still some leftover from the day the four of them baked), “We’ll be in bed before midnight. Promise.” He gave her a winning Stark smile to convey his sincerity.

She smiled back. “Nighty night, darlings. I love you both very, very much.”

“Love you too, Mom,” Bruce returned.

Mr. Banner gave his farewell from the sidelines. “Goodnight, Tony. Bruce.” It was short, a bit stern, but the most genial he’d ever been towards them.

“G’night,” Tony called back. “Thanks again for letting me stay over.”

With that the two disappeared down the hall towards the master bedroom. Bruce gave a soft snort-- he had no doubt that his parents were planning to have a ‘good night’. He picked up the remote and poked the volume up a couple of notches, and not because he was particularly interested in the current programming. He pushed up his glasses and allowed his gaze to slide over to Tony, taking a moment to admire the way his friend was lying on the floor... in particular, the low dip of his spine and subsequent swell of his ass. Bruce bit his lip, trying to direct his thoughts away, his father’s words from their talk still nagging at the forefront of his mind. He really hadn’t conducted himself with much restraint as of late. He and Tony had been all over one another just about every other chance they got. It wasn’t like he _couldn’t_ curb his concupiscence, it was just that he didn’t _want_ to. And what did it matter right now? School hadn’t started, so there wasn’t any studying to do. And his mom hadn’t started her job, so there weren’t any house duties to complete. There was only Tony.

Bruce hummed out a low note and reached over to slide his hand under his friend’s shirt, smoothing his palm over the warm flesh. Tony groaned, the gentle press reminding him that he’d spent far too much time in the past few days hunched over his laptop working on one of Bruce’s gifts. He reached back, pulling the hem of his shirt up so Bruce would have better access. “Do that more...”

Bruce chuckled at the request. “Okay,” he agreed simply, letting his palm slide over the expanse of skin with a little more firmness.

Tony moaned his approval, quietly but earnestly, letting out the tiniest of noises when his friend’s hand found its way over a knot or pressure point. It was encouraging enough that Bruce sat up so he could use both hands, kneading the tight muscle underneath skin all the way from shoulders to lower back.

Tony purred contentedly, arching his back and earning a harder rub from Bruce. He had grown so enamored with the sensations coursing through his muscles that he nearly failed to notice the two strong hands shifting his jeans and underwear down. Once he’d clued in, he wiggled his hips, reaching down to fiddle with the fly of his jeans in an attempt to aid his impromptu masseur and get those hands back on him as quickly as possible.

“You are the best and worst distraction...” Bruce mumbled lowly, rubbing slow circles into the young man’s sacral dimples with his thumbs.

Tony let his eyes drift closed, humming his appreciation into his forearm. He could feel his arousal growing again, uncomfortably pressed against the floor due to their positions.

Bruce’s hands slid a little lower, groping at his friend’s ass. He’d been deep in thought ever since the talk upstairs, and he continued to think aloud, “My dad said that intimacy between two people our age is a waste of time...”

Tony paled, head snapping to attention, “He knows we--”

Bruce gave a snort and poked a forefinger down on his friend’s head to get him to lower it again. “No. He only asked me about Betty.”

“Oh.” Tony sounded relieved, but worried about where Bruce planned on going with this. The massaging resumed.

The way Bruce’s fingers swept and spiralled around on Tony’s back mimed the swirling thoughts in his brain. “He doesn’t know; he said he was glad I wasn’t involved in such frivolities.” Bruce issued a sardonic half-laugh. “He said that when _he_ was young, he didn’t either. That he focused on his education and ‘preparing for the working world’.” His words turned temporarily derisive, “Probably his sorry explanation as to why he couldn’t get laid...”

Tony gave a little yipe, causing Bruce to realize he’d accidentally dug his fingernails into the other teen’s back. “Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly. He leaned down to press a line of kisses over the hurt flesh to soothe it.

“No worries, big guy,” Tony reassured him. “It’s funny, that sounds a lot like something _I_ would say.” He chuckled. “But keep going,” he coaxed. Tony could sense Bruce had a lot he needed to get off his chest, and for once he was _actually_ sharing without any prodding.

Bruce hummed. He urged Tony onto his back so he could capture the other’s lips roughly for a moment, the passion of which fueled as if because it was in direct opposition to his father’s wishes. He breathed out. “I just don’t want him to be right. And I don’t want to be like him, even if he _is_ right...” Bruce paused. “I need this.” He ran his fingers over his friend’s scar. “I need _you_.”

“You’re nothing like him. I told you that already,” Tony spoke through a moan at the fingers grazing the sensitive spot. His eyes were far more emotive than he’d normally allow them to be during such an intimate moment with Bruce, the affection behind his eyes cowering in plain view of anyone who might be inclined to look its way. Bruce needed _him_. The statement made his heart jump. It made him forget that prick of pain from earlier. It gave him a ghost of hope; hope that he was afraid to leave unguarded at the risk of it being smashed down again. It was heartbreaking to hear his friend worry about becoming his father, when it was something Bruce was too great of a person to ever lower himself to. Tony wanted to find that seed of doubt deep inside of his friend’s mind and smother it until it died. He wanted Bruce to see what _he_ saw: an amazing, kind, passionate guy who happened to have him absolutely captivated on a daily basis.

Bruce sighed, troubled despite Tony’s assurances to the contrary. He’d changed a lot since meeting Tony, but there were still some things that were decidedly the same. For the better part, Tony was blind to those flaws, either that or he just made a point of foolishly ignoring them. His temper was a big one... it still got the better of him-- Bruce doubted anything would ever change that. He shook his head. “I’m thinking too much again, aren’t I?” he recognized with a chagrined chuckle, trying not to let his eyes water.

“Bruce, _really_ ,” Tony tried to look annoyed as he rolled his eyes, “I’m not lying to make you feel better.” He waited for the big guy to look up, confused. “That’s what the _sex_ is for, you dolt,” Tony tacked on with a smile, hoping to at least draw a chuckle from his companion.

Bruce felt a grin tug his mouth apart, his friend’s flippancy never failing to pull him out of a funk. Tony smirked back, sitting up and taking Bruce’s head in his hands firmly. He leaned in so that their faces were so close their lips brushed when he spoke, voice laced with too many emotions, “And maybe I need you too.”

Bruce felt his body heat with the words. He kissed him roughly again, like he had at the levee; let all the insecurities and self-awareness go. By the time he broke off from his friend’s lips, they were both panting and hard. “If it’s alright with you... I’d like to finish what I started earlier...” he suggested.

“Only if I get to do the same,” Tony countered with a wolfish smile.

Bruce thought about it a moment, but shrugged. “Sure,” he agreed.

“Let’s go back to your room. I feel like stargazing.”

Bruce chuckled. He had the feeling Tony was going to like one of the gifts currently under the tree. He clicked off the television set and rose to a stand, offering his friend a hand up.

Tony took it gratefully, stumbling a bit in his jeans, which immediately sunk down to his knees upon standing. Bruce snorted a laugh and Tony, a little pink, pulled them back up for the meantime, holding them in place with his free hand, his other still firmly in his friend’s.

“Oh, hold up,” Bruce let go, ducking into the bathroom on their way down the hall. He crouched to open the cabinet under the sink, scrounging around past toilet cleaner and Lysol spray.

“What are you looking--” Tony started, before Bruce held up a pump-container of Jergens lotion. When he saw it, his bewilderment ceased. “Oh, that’ll help,” he commented, unable to wipe the blush from his cheeks.

Bruce very nearly laughed again, instead leaning in to peck Tony on the bulb of his nose. “Come on,” he urged eagerly, taking his hand back and resuming the short journey down the hall. He didn’t turn on the light when they’d walked through the threshold-- couldn’t very well ‘stargaze’ with it on-- but he shut the door to give them more privacy. He set the lotion on the desk and began disrobing, starting with his button-up shirt. 

Tony heard the article hit the floor more than saw it, and began following suit. There wasn’t a sense of urgency, the two undressing at their own leisure, occasionally stealing touches and kisses as their eyes adjusted to the darkness. It was strangely... intimate compared to past encounters, with either Bruce or Pepper. Not to say there was a lack of passion. It just felt different than he was used to. Relaxed as opposed to frantic, and Tony appreciated the change of pace.

Bruce rolled himself into bed and pulled Tony along with him. There’d been a shift in mood that even Bruce had noticed; a shift that made him a little anxious. He stared up at his friend silhouetted against the backdrop of glow-paint specks and found himself questioning what the difference was between this and when Betty had kissed him all those years back. Was it all just the _intent?_ He’d thought Betty was in love with him, and he could have loved her back... if he’d allowed himself to.

He really did need to talk to her. There was so much that was long overdue.

But Tony... Tony wasn’t _in love_ with him, was he? Obviously he loved him, of course he did, Bruce loved him too, you loved your best friend, that was normal. But now Bruce was questioning. If Tony _was_ in love with him, could he allow himself to love him back...?

There was no place for those thoughts right now. Bruce slid his hand up Tony’s throat and kissed him deeply, ignoring his thoughts and throwing himself once more into the abyss of his desires.

Tony followed Bruce’s lead, kissing long and frequently in between touches and pets. He hadn’t said a word since entering the room, too wrapped up in the thrill of blind exploration. His eyes were starting to focus. Beyond the blinding white blurring the edges of his vision, he could see Bruce emerging from the darkness. He felt this strange sense of deja vu, and it made his heart jump in panic for just a moment... lost in the dark, unable to be heard, with a vague silhouette in plain view before him. He’d had this dream before, many times since he was eight. And it always ended the same way...

He reached a trembling hand out hesitantly as his eyes continued to adjust in the dark, the contrasts of his surroundings heightening, threatening to swallow him in. A hand took his firmly, and as his eyes focused fully, Bruce was looking back at him. He wasn’t alone. He was safe. It was then that he realized something shocking, something both utterly ridiculous and at the same time more important than anything he’d learned about Bruce up until then. The sex didn’t even scratch the surface of it. Bruce had heard him. Bruce had changed him. Bruce had kept him safe, stood by him so he didn’t have to be alone. But now Tony knew that Bruce had done so much more than that.

Bruce had made Tony fall in love with him. It was a truth that he wasn’t sure he was quite ready for.

“Hey, are you okay?” Bruce asked, concern evident in his voice. “You’re breathing really hard...” Tony’s chest had been heaving up and down like a fish out of water, but the boy seemed to be recovering now.

Tony kissed him, half because he couldn’t trust himself not to blurt out this new knowledge, half because he really, really needed to claim those lips as his own again. Pulling back, he looked Bruce square in the eye, “Fuck me.”

The other teen let out a forceful exhale, pressing their foreheads and noses together. Well, Tony _had_ said it was a possibility he might want this tonight. “Yeah?” he asked.

Tony nodded slowly, “Yeah. I want to. And I want it to be you.” He sighed out shakily, his nerves obvious, but his stare unwavering, “We can always stop if I hate it... or if you hate it.”

Bruce considered those words a long moment, idly stroking the bump of his friend’s hip. Especially the ‘I want it to be you.’ “Alright.” He reached out for the lotion on the desk, depressing a dollop into his right hand. He coated a couple fingers on his left. “Hips up again,” he requested. Tony did as he was told, his case of nerves nearly gone from the earlier experience that afternoon. Bruce gripped his cock, starting to rub, and after a moment of searching he found his other target, slipping a finger back up inside the other boy, the lotion assisting quite a bit more than the saliva had.

Tony lolled his head back, lips parting to let a contented moan escape. It would figure that Bruce had memorized that spot’s location this quickly.

Bruce watched with breath held, his pupils dilated wide to counteract the lack of light in the room. He could just make out the termination of Tony’s goatee, the shaved line between chin and neck as his friend’s head fell back in pleasure. Bruce pumped a few times before humming out a warning, “I’m going to add another.”

Tony swallowed, lifting his head to half-glare in the direction Bruce’s voice had come from, “You’d better.”

Bruce acquiesced, removing the first so he could position both together and sink them inside, attempting to massage and stretch while testing the elasticity of the inner walls. He spread the two digits apart somewhat, knowing it needed to be done for what was ahead. Tony grit his teeth at first but gradually grew accustomed to the added pressure. “Still alright?” Bruce asked, squeezing the other’s length-- it couldn’t be _too_ bad considering the firmness in his hand.

Tony nodded his head vigorously, bucking into Bruce’s hand. He couldn’t deny it was uncomfortable, but as his prostate was stroked once again, he let out a low whine and decided that the ends definitely justified the means. Bruce extended his fingers, trying to reach them deeper as he angled them towards Tony’s front. “Just tell me when you think you’re ready...” he hummed.

Tony nodded, allowing Bruce to continue a few moments more before interjecting, “O-okay. Go ahead.”

He removed his fingers carefully; Tony sighed again, somewhere between relief and disappointment. “Want to grab that condom you said you had?” Bruce asked.

The other teen nodded. “Yeah, okay.” He climbed off Bruce and the bed and started to search the floor when he stepped on the denim article he was looking for. He stuffed a hand into the pocket and found the foil-wrapped square, bringing it back. “Here...” Tony offered shyly, giving his friend a little off-center smile.

“Thanks,” Bruce returned. He wet his lips as he tore the side off the pouch. He reached in with finger and thumb to pluck the ring of latex out from its wrapper and couldn’t help but give a chuckle. “I don’t know why, but I never thought I’d find a practical use for what we learned in Health class.”

“You hadn’t met _me_ yet,” Tony scoffed, “If you had, it would’ve been you and me up there instead of Mrs. Cressman and the banana.” He watched excitedly as his friend sheathed his length inside the thin prophylactic-- knowing where that was going sent a shiver up his spine. Call him sentimental, or romantic, or _whatever_ , but this was some part of himself he hadn’t given away to anyone else yet. And he was choosing to give it to Bruce. He rubbed his palms up and down his friend’s thighs while he waited.

Bruce finished rolling it to the base and reached for the bottle again, squirting two more good-sized globs into his palm. “This position good by you?” Bruce asked his friend-- it was a little awkward to be so frank about what they were about to be doing, but as far as first times went, he knew communication was important. And technically this would be a first in one way or another for _both_ of them. He tried not to let that worry him as he began to lubricate his erection.

Tony chuckled internally. How was he supposed to know? He’d never been on bottom before. “It’s either this, or you whip out the dirty magazines and we flip through them like catalogues until we find a position we’d rather try.” Tony leveled Bruce a look, cutting the sarcasm, “I think this is a good start.”

The other teen gave a snort of amusement. “Alright, I guess you should...” he trailed off, implying with a gesture that Tony ought to scoot up. He took a moment to wipe the lube from his hands on the corner of his bedsheet, but his eyes didn’t leave the lean form of the boy straddling him. He wet his lips again, tongue flicking out ever so briefly before speaking. “I don’t think I’ve ever stated this outright, but... you’re really good-looking. Especially undressed.”

“I know,” Tony gloated. He scooted up and added in a hushed tone, “...But, um, thanks.”

Bruce chuckled. The cocky reply always came before the honest one. He placed both his hands down flat on the other teen’s abdomen so he could cover as much surface area as possible, slowly smoothing them up the length of Tony’s torso. It still felt new... being able to touch and feel someone else up against him... to share physicality with another human being. He’d never been a very physical person-- not in the touchy-feely sense anyway-- and establishing this connection with Tony had been like getting in touch with a part of himself he’d never even known was there. He scraped his fingers along the scar on Tony’s chest possessively, groin giving a pulse. He really wanted to do this, to be _inside_ Tony; he couldn’t really deny it. Not that he knew what he was doing... One of his hands wandered to the other’s hip, squeezing the bone beneath the surface of the skin; the other he positioned at the base of his erection, keeping it steady. He eased his friend down, until he could feel that he was pressing at Tony’s entrance; he hoped to Hell he was angled right. “Sure about this?” he asked, eyes flicking upward.

Oh, he was so, so, _so_ damnably close, it took everything within Tony not to let out a tortured whimper. He looked down at his friend. “Bruce. Yes. I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.” Yes, he was apprehensive about the physical aspect, but in terms of _who_ he was doing it with, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind. He smiled and answered more casually. “I wanna do this, alright, big guy?”

“Yeah, okay,” Bruce nodded. He winced away from his friend’s gaze. “Sorry, I’m just a little worried.”

“Don’t be,” Tony told him. “If you do it _half_ as well as everything else, it’ll be fucking amazing,” he laughed.

The reassurance made Bruce chuckle, lending him confidence. He reached up to bring his friend down into a kiss. “ _You’re_ amazing,” he imparted in a whisper. He angled his hips and pushed, encountering a difficult resistance at first. Tony breathed out, again willing his sphincter to relax and not fight the pressure as he had done when it had just been a couple of fingers, and doing so allowed Bruce to slide partially inside. The immediate sensation made Bruce groan, muffling it into Tony’s mouth.

Of course it hurt, just not nearly as much as Tony had expected. It was a moderate discomfort and Tony couldn’t help the grunt that escaped his throat, causing Bruce to pull back from their kiss with the obvious question of _‘Should I stop?’_ in his eyes.

“It’s okay. I’m okay; just give me a second.” It would probably have hurt much worse if Bruce wasn’t trying his best to be gentle with him, and it sure as Hell wasn’t painful enough to make him want to stop. With a few deep breaths, he grew accustomed to the feeling and nodded. Bruce seemed to take that as a sign to continue and pushed further in, slowly, little by little.

“I probably don’t have to tell you this, but you feel really... really good...” Bruce shuddered, skimming his fingers over his friend’s sides as he urged him to sit lower on his pelvis. He gave a gentle thrust, eyes shut and head back against his pillow.

Tony gave a blink. He looked down curiously, watching his friend’s face distort in pleasure. “Oh yeah?” he inquired, a little half-sided smirk working its way to the surface of his face. He started to lift himself up with his thighs before setting back down, then repeated the action; if he could focus on Bruce’s enjoyment, it would distract him from the discomfort in his backside. “You like it...?” he purred as he raised and lowered methodically.

Bruce issued a little groan, toes curling at his friend’s motion. He nodded.

Tony grinned. “I think I like it too.” Already, his confidence was growing-- he could get good at this. Get good at making Bruce feel good. He’d add it to the already impressive list of things he could do well in bed. Taking it up the ass. Check-mark! Tony scoffed to himself but began to move a little quicker, finding the more repetitions he made since his initial one, the easier it was seeming to get... his body accepting the protrusion. Bruce’s hips rose to greet him each time, one groan melding into the next until it seemed like the big guy was either moaning or taking a breath to moan more. Which was really hot, just for the record. Tony gave a little warble of his own, rocking against his friend; he felt a fleeting pin-prick of pleasure and stubbornly chased it down to experience it again. It was slightly stronger this time and he eagerly rolled his hips. “Ah, fuck. Okay, yeah; I like it,” he confirmed.

“Tony...” Bruce gripped onto his hips. He held on and gave a slightly harder thrust, one that sparked pleasure like an electrical pulse through his body. His length gave a twitch against his friend’s belly. Tony took it in his hand to stroke in sync to their motions.

“God yeah, Bruce... Again... harder...”

The big guy did as asked and Tony whined in delight, throwing his head back; he rode with increased vigor, but it fell short of filling his growing craving. He needed a different position to get it. “Shit, Bruce...” he struggled to articulate himself. “I want-- ugh... I w-want to flip over...”

Bruce slowed. “Y-yeah?” His own voice was trembling somewhat, strained with excitement.

Tony nodded. “Yeah.” His face was already plenty flushed from activity, but his ears burned nonetheless as he explained, “I wanna feel you on top of me...”

Bruce wet his lips. “Alright.” The two of them swapped positions, the bed squeaking as he got up and Tony took his place. The teen spread his legs for Bruce to get between them, and he planted his knees and toes to lower himself, using a hand to help reinsert his cock to the hilt.

Tony wrapped his arms around his friend, pulling him in closer, until their bodies were flush; their forms rubbed from groin to chest with each thrust Bruce now took. “Yeah... fuck, come on...” Tony encouraged, pushing back. Bruce leaned more of his weight into him, and the increased crushing sensation to his ribcage made Tony whimper rapturously. “Bruce, I’m a-almost...”

The big guy shuddered. “Y-yeah, m-me too...” he got out in a ragged laugh.

“Shit,” Tony spoke, letting his head fall back as his brain swam with lust. He reached down and gripped his friend’s ass firmly, guiding him to grind their lower bodies together. The dual sensations sent pleasure coursing through him, wave after unending wave and he almost didn’t want it to end. He could hear Bruce panting above him, shaking as he held back, continuing to plunge in and out. _‘Some of that stubbornness is paying off...’_ Tony thought, biting back what would have been a loud moan. His whole body gave a familiar tense in preparation, skirting the edge and he clung harder to his friend, hips bucking.

He came with a stuttered wail and it was right then that Bruce drove himself as deep as he could go. On first instinct Tony wasn’t sure why he’d stopped, until the telltale grunt and he felt Bruce twitch inside him. Tony laughed breathlessly, still a little euphoric after his climax, “God... simultaneous orgasm... what are the odds?” He reached up to bring their mouths together for a sloppy, passionate instant, grinning like an idiot when he’d pulled back. “What did I tell you? You did great. All that worrying for nothing.”

Bruce gave a snort and tried to hide his sheepish grin. He was tempted to give Tony a hard time about being such a smartass, but that irresistible Stark grin changed his mind. “Guess you were right.” He pecked his friend on the mouth one last time before sitting back on his haunches. Carefully he peeled the condom off his softening length and tied a knot in the end. He regarded his friend over the ridge of his glasses, which hadn’t left his nose since they’d started. “We’re going to have to clean up.”

“Bruuuce...!” Tony whined, throwing his head back into the pillow, “We just had _amazing_ sex. Can you _not_ try to tailgate with responsibility? You’ve already rear-ended me once tonight.” 

The teen hummed out a chuckle and dropped the used prophylactic onto his desk to deal with later. “Fine, but only for you.” He moved to lay beside his friend, propping his head up with a hand.

“Just five minutes,” Tony murmured. “I’m still winding down.”

“Uh huh,” Bruce murmured. He traced patterns over Tony’s flesh with his fingers, allowing himself a low sigh of contentment.

“No really, you were that good.”

Bruce chuckled again, this time a little more self-consciously. He hadn’t known what to expect his first time would be like, but the experience had been agreeable. More than agreeable, really, if he wanted to be honest with himself. He almost couldn’t believe they’d actually _done_ it. And with his parents on the other side of the wall. Bruce rolled over onto his back and stared up at his ceiling, the mass of points plunging him back into silent contemplation. So many nights he’d lain here alone in the dark, not even sure how he’d face the next day. Sometimes still he didn’t know how he’d face the next day, but now he never felt he had to face it alone. He reached out to his side, until he found Tony’s hand, which he clasped tightly in his own. “Tony...?” he asked softly.

“Mm?” Tony turned to look Bruce in the eye.

“I’m glad you’re here for me...” he breathed, meaning every word. With everything going on in his life, he was glad to have an anchor.

Tony’s heart jumped up into his throat. _‘Tell him, you idiot. He’s practically rolling out the welcome mat. It’s like he’s begging you to tell him.’_ “Bruce, I...”

_‘Say it, you jackass.’_ Tony looked back up at the ceiling, swallowing hard. It felt like his lymph nodes had swelled to twice their normal size, “I’m glad too.” _‘Wow, you suck,’_ he mentally berated himself.

Bruce squeezed his hand one last time before releasing it. “Think it’s been five minutes?” he asked.

Tony sighed, but it wasn’t an annoyed one. “Yeah I guess so.” He ruffled Bruce’s hair, sitting up, “There’s plenty of time for ‘pillow talk’ later, right?”

“Yeah, sure, of course,” Bruce smiled at his companion-- chatting with his friend after dark was a favorite past-time of his by now, especially when they got to do it side by side. And there was no way of keeping Tony quiet after sex anyway.

Tony winced as he shifted to stand. He was sure that was going to ache for a while yet. Not that Bruce had done any lasting damage or anything, but it was a muscle like any of the others in his body, and Bruce had given it a Hell of a workout-- a little soreness was to be expected. Bruce got up first and extended a hand to help him up out of bed, which Tony took with a small chuckle. “Thanks.”

The two of them padded down to the bathroom stealthily on tip-toes, pajamas in hand. Bruce discarded the condom, being sure to disguise it in plenty of toilet paper, and they rinsed off the most important areas before donning their nightclothes and brushing their teeth. They went back to the bedroom and crawled back into the little twin, snuggling under the covers, though not before Bruce had folded the stems in on his glasses and set them on the desk.

Bruce exhaled a sigh into his pillow, body relaxing completely into the mattress. “Mm... if only we could do this every night...” he murmured, voice half muffled. “Definitely good stress relief.”

“The Hell says we can’t?” Tony scoffed, head sliding down to rest on Bruce’s shoulder.

“I don’t know, I guess nothing,” Bruce admitted, pausing. Come spring quarter, when school and homework disallowed them from staying the night all the time, it would be more difficult to find a time and place. Bruce cleared his throat and spoke back up. “It just doesn’t seem terribly... ah... realistic,” he settled.

“Says that voice in the back of your head that makes you worry when you do fun shit,” Tony corrected with disdain, “Tell him to shut up; it’s none of his business.” As far as he was concerned, Bruce could have him as much or as often as he wanted.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bruce chuckled, reaching up to give his friend a short noogie. “I worry too much, blah blah. I know; you’ve told me before.”

“Ow.” Tony rubbed his scalp, “And yet you _continue_ to worry.” He paused thoughtfully then, because if Bruce had said what they’d just done was good stress relief, that meant he’d been stressed prior to doing it. Tony wriggled beside his friend. “So what’s on your mind? You seemed really...” he wrinkled his nose, “riled up a few minutes ago in the living room.”

The teenager shrugged. “Eh, a lot of things...” he admitted softly.

“Yessss?” Tony was grinning that cheshire grin again.

Bruce hummed in thought, supposing it wouldn’t hurt to share a little, now that he was calmer. “My mom and this job she’s getting... my parents’ relationship in general... school starting again in a couple weeks...” He left a couple unspoken, like the fact he should phone Betty back and maybe give Pepper a call too while he was at it...

“Your dad seemed to really be on your case today...” Tony added, remembering how the evening had gone. “What was up with that?”

“I don’t know.” Bruce shook his head. “Better me than Mom any day.” If his father needed someone to take his aggression out on, then so be it; he’d willingly step into the ring. Though tonight there hadn’t been any fighting match-- Bruce had gone to the study prepared to defend himself, only to be disarmed when the bell was never struck... The only thing he’d fought tonight was his shadow of self-doubt. And even now that shadow was growing.

“Better none of you than either of you,” Tony corrected, “Why lay down on the wire when you can just cut it?”

“It’s not that simple. You know that...” Bruce mumbled dejectedly.

“Of course I know that. I was just saying that I value both of your lives equally. If either of you suffer, it’s a loss for me.”

“It’s nice to know you care,” Bruce assured dismissively. “Maybe one day things’ll actually get better...” He slid his hands up to hug at himself, curling up somewhat. “...Or go back to how they were...” he got out in a small voice, remembering his mother’s words.

“I shouldn’t have to remind you how much I care,” Tony sighed. “But if you come to me sporting any bruises, I swear I’m gonna kick your ass. Then his. I told you before, for thirty thou, I can make sure they will never find the body.” Bruce probably knew Tony was full of shit in his claims, but the sentiment was more than real. Tony waited for a chuckle, a snort, anything... Bruce didn’t make a sound. Sensing the shift in mood, he reached his arms around his friend’s torso, pulling him close. “Listen, no matter what, I’m going to be here for you.” He kissed Bruce’s shoulder as he held him from behind, his voice barely a murmur, “You can count on that.”

Bruce’s eyes slid shut. He didn’t want to think about it anymore, so he just nodded.

Tony clicked his tongue, somewhat self conscious as the realization of what he’d said hit him. He felt the urge to change the subject, “By the way, did you mean what you said earlier?” he asked, loosening his grip.

Bruce lifted his head just a tad. “Huh?”

“About me. During the sex. Call me a compliment whore, but I wanted to know if you meant it.”

Bruce managed to turn himself around in the other’s grip to give Tony a puzzled glance. “You mean when I said you were good-looking?”

Tony nodded, “That’d be the one. Well besides the remark about how good I felt.” A grin snuck onto his face.

Bruce’s face heated at that reminder-- all those things had just kind of slipped out during the heat of the moment. “I, uh... well, yeah. I do find you... attractive, and it was... well, _really_ good...” He breathed out. “I-- I don’t really know. I noticed that the closer we get, the more I seem to learn about myself and...” he abruptly cut his dialogue short, feeling he’d strayed from the original question. “Yeah, I meant it.” He twiddled his thumbs anxiously.

His friend’s words filled him with a warm, fuzzy sensation. “You’re easy on the eyes too. Not that I can see much of anything right now. It’s kind of dark. But I know you are; I’ve seen as much. And as far as I’m concerned, the earth fucking shattered.”

Bruce chuckled at his friend’s talkativeness. “I’m glad you enjoyed it too.” He leaned over to put a kiss on his friend’s temple, then gave a yawn and stretched out a limb, rolling onto his back before shutting his eyes.

“I owe you a massage later, by the way,” Tony remarked randomly, “That one you did earlier was exactly what I needed.”

“Two,” Bruce didn’t bother to open his eyes to remind his friend.

“Hm?” Tony turned his head to look at Bruce quizzically, “No, I’m pretty sure upper back and lower back are still just one massage. Even if you did couple it in with a grope...”

“You said you’d rub my feet,” Bruce spoke. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember since you promised months ago.”

Tony blinked twice, probably more for himself than anything since Bruce couldn’t see it, “It _was_ months ago, and I believe the condition was _if_ you wanted me to.” He wasn’t sure why exactly he was debating this, though lately it seemed friendly debates just came naturally when Bruce was involved. Even if he had no problem agreeing with the other teen, arguing was far more entertaining, ”The statute of limitations _has_ to have passed on that offer by now.”

Bruce hummed sleepily. “Mm... suppose just one then...” he amended.

“Aw, don’t just leave me hanging here. We’re supposed to bicker ‘til one of us caves or we reach a compromise. Otherwise I’ll feel guilty.” Tony pouted.

“You’re right though,” Bruce mumbled.

“Don’t say that. I’m supposed to _prove_ I’m right. _You’re_ supposed to argue your point until I ultimately win because of how right I am. You just skipped like, three steps,” Tony gestured in exasperation.

“I should have asked you to do it earlier. If I brought it up a year from now, could I really expect you to honor it?”

Tony put his hands over his ears, “Stop it. That thing, that thing you’re doing that’s making me feel like a jerk.” He sighed, “It’s not like I actually gave you an expiration date or anything.”

“So two then?” Bruce winked open one eye.

“ _Yes!_ God, Bruce. Stand up for yourself, really.” He sunk into his sheets with a long exhale, crossing his arms, “You’re making me feel like a bully over here.”

“My bad.” Bruce hummed, waiting for the realization to kick in that he’d just made Tony argue his point for him.

“It’s fine,” Tony sighed. “Just don’t let me walk all over you.” Well now that that was settled, they could get some sleep. He let out a yawn, “I guess I’m gonna turn in now, big guy.” He fluffed his pillow one last time before flopping back down on it, “G’night.”

“Good night, Tony.”

And then all was quiet... for about forty-five seconds.

“ _You!_ ” Tony sat up, turning to face Bruce’s lying form with eyes wide and mouth agape, “You tricked me!”

Bruce laughed loud enough he had to put a hand over his mouth.

“You sir, are an evil genius,” Tony grinned, genuinely impressed. Then he leaned down and planted a kiss on those smug, mindgame-spitting, completely irresistible lips. It was far more tender and affectionate than he’d intended, but it shut Bruce up, the other boy returning it earnestly and combing his fingers through his short hair in ways that made Tony want to melt. “I fucking love you sometimes, I swear...” he breathed out, keeping his tone playful in order to downplay the truth of the statement. Tony could feel his face heating up and only then did he remember he should try to not linger too long above his friend. Little late for that now though. Oops.

Bruce blinked, staring into Tony’s eyes through the dark, wishing he could make them out better because he wasn’t sure what the other teen had really meant by that. It seemed a harmless, brotherly sentiment. After a long moment, he responded. “Yeah. I love you too. Sometimes.”

Everything froze for one instant except the heart hammering against the inside of Tony’s ribcage. The _Hell_ had Bruce just said to him?

“Uh, thanks.”

_Thanks?_ If Tony could have physically reached up and slapped himself for that one without Bruce thinking he was crazy...

“I mean, who _doesn’t_ love me?” Tony force-gloated. Hopefully it posed a decent cover.

Bruce felt an awkward chuckle leave his throat. Yeah, who didn’t? And on that list of people who loved Tony was Pepper. The reminder made him sigh. “Sorry I was such a heel today,” he spoke up, “Getting... over-possessive and... jealous and then angry.” Bruce swallowed hard; just admitting how he’d let his emotions get the best of him all day felt shameful. He didn’t deserve the kind of forgiveness Tony continually gave him.

“Bruce...” Tony sighed. He could practically taste the guilt in the air, “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to keep someone to yourself.” Tony wasn’t just saying that for Bruce’s sake, and he knew it. He needed to say it and believe it for himself too, “If you started messing around with someone new, I’d probably get jealous too.” He chuckled, acting as if he hadn’t already thought about just how infuriated he’d be if he were to witness such a thing.

Bruce smiled despite himself; there was the forgiveness again. Somehow he really ought to make it up to Tony. “Yeah,” he pat his friend’s arm. “We should probably get to sleep. How many days it ‘til Christmas again?” he asked, already cogitating how he might go about making it up to him...

“Too many... I’ll text you an update in the morning,” Tony groaned, losing to the impulse to steal another chaste kiss from Bruce’s unsuspecting lips. “God, you’re easy,” he teased as he pulled back.

“You’re easier...” Bruce insisted.

Tony pointed a finger of warning at him. “Sleep. Now. Before we end up fucking again.”

“As if you’d complain,” Bruce shot back as he rolled over, hiking the covers up over his shoulder.

“You’re right; I wouldn’t,” Tony conceded, corners of his mouth upturning slightly. “But the last thing your parents need to see when they go to wake us up is the two of us all naked and sticky because we fell asleep right after the second round.”

“Point duly noted. Goodnight, Tony.”

Tony fluffed his pillow once more for good measure before flopping back down on it with a satisfied smile, “G’night, Bruce.”


	25. Chapter 25

“I figured out how you can make it up to me,” Pepper said, phone propped in the crook of her shoulder as she dug through her closet.

“Hm, and how would that be?” Tony asked; he finished tagging the tracks he’d imported to iTunes and proceeded to sync them.  He’d chosen to omit one track from the album after heavy internal debate, but when he ejected the first device and connected the second, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to keep the full album intact for his own collection.

The girl spotted the large white shoebox she was searching for perched upon the highest shelf.  Pepper got on her tippy-toes to grab it and carried it back with her to the bed.  “Well... do you remember where we used to go once or twice every winter during middle school?” she asked, her excitement evident in the sound of her voice.  She popped off the lid of the box, lips drawing into a smile at its contents.

“Of course I remember,” Tony snorted as if insulted by the insinuation he might _not_.  He went on, “And my guess would be that I’m taking you again.”

Pepper’s grin was gigantic as she removed the pair of ice skates by their laces and held them up.  “Yep.  Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow?  Tony swallowed.  He’d been planning to hang out at the Banners’ house for Christmas, though why Pepper hadn’t already guessed that, he had no idea.  Maybe she was on a possessive streak.

“Tomorrow, huh?  What time did I say I’d be picking you up again?”

If anything, her smile got even bigger at her ex’s wording.  “Two o’clock, I believe...”  She paused as if playing secretary, consulting a calendar.  “Yes, it’s right here in my schedule.  Just before... oh, look at that,” she clicked her tongue, smirking foxily and hoping Tony could hear it over the phone.

“Just before ‘Welcome Tony to Hawaii’?” Tony wagered a guess as he smirked into the phone.

The girl readily cocked an eyebrow, setting the skates back in their box.  “Tony... if this is the ‘Horizontal Hula’ joke, you’ve already used that one.”

“Don’t be silly, Pep,” Tony dismissed, “The ‘Welcome to Hawaii’ is when you give someone a ‘lei’ upon arrival.”

She snorted a good long laugh at the joke.  “Yes.  That exactly.  But your place, not mine.”  Even lawyers took holidays, and she still hadn’t exactly told her parents what happened to her and Happy-- she didn’t want to pull Tony in and have a case of Law & Order in the living room.

“Oh, damn.  I forgot I invited you over too,” Tony continued to play along, “I need to write out some post-its.”

“Not that if you did, you’d have any place to put them.  There’s only so much space on that forehead of yours.”  She spoke endearingly, “You’re the most disorganized, irresponsible boy I know, Tony Stark...”

“Gosh, when you sweet-talk me like that, how can I not jump into bed with you?” Tony replied sarcastically.

“You didn’t let me finish,” Pepper chided.  “I was going to say ‘You’re the most disorganized, irresponsible, _disruptive_ \--’” she added with pointed emphasis, “‘boy I know... but!  I love you’.”

_‘She didn’t just say that.  She didn’t actually say that.  I’m hearing things and she said something completely different that... well, that wasn’t that.’_

Tony cleared his throat, trying to pretend he hadn’t heard.  If she meant it in any serious kind of way it would complicate things even further.  Tony was pining after Bruce fucking Banner while simultaneously sleeping with him and Pepper.  Tony had well exceeded his recommended daily dose of complicated.  He was pretty sure his light chuckle sounded believable,  “Right, well I suppose all is forgiven then.”

“As always,” she rolled her eyes with a helplessly charmed smile.  “So I’ll see you at two tomorrow!”

Tony scratched the back of his head, “Yeah.  See you!”

“I’m holding you to it...!” she chimed flirtatiously, not hanging up.

“Right, I promise...” Tony groaned.  Bruce was going to love this news... he was sure of it-- considering how the big guy reacted _last_ time he’d had an engagement with Pepper...  How in the Hell was he supposed to keep Pepper and Bruce satisfied when there was only _one_ of him and _two_ of them??

“Yes, you did,” Pepper agreed.  “I think your _boyfriend_ can live without you for a few hours,” she ribbed as if reading his mind.  “Especially since it’s his fault you had to make that promise in the first place.”

“To be fair, Pep, he didn’t know,” Tony responded, momentarily distracted by the _boop!_ from his computer signalling it had finished syncing.  “And how many times do I have to tell you?  Bruce and I aren’t boyfriends.”   _‘Just_ wish _we were.’_  He gave a little grumble.

“Whatever you say,” the girl giggled to herself privately-- she did love to give her ex a hard time.

Tony frowned as he unplugged his music player, momentarily second-guessing his choice of gift for the big guy.  He was just as sure Bruce would appreciate say, a stack of spiral notebooks or a day planner, something _practical_ for Christmas.  As little as his friend had appreciated his Christmas cookies, how much could he expect the other teen to like a bunch of crummy covers he’d recorded down in his basement?

Pepper spoke up again; in his musing, he’d almost forgotten he was on the phone with her still.  “Tony?  You got quiet.  What are you thinking?”

“No.  Nothing.  It’s nothing,” he assured quickly, attempting to bounce back.  “I’ll let him know I’m taking you,” Tony said.  At least Pepper he knew would _return_ his affection... unlike Bruce.  He held back a sigh, “I’ll see you then?”

“I’ll be there with bells on my toes!” Pepper said merrily, closing the lid back over her ice skates.

Tony clicked his teeth twice in response and hung up, smiling wide and shaking his head.  That made two more ‘I love you’s than he’d expected this winter.   _‘Don’t think about it; you’ll only drive yourself crazy...’_ Tony warned himself.  Instead he resumed wrapping the rest of the Banners’ gifts.  He would have to be over there no later than five if he didn’t want to miss Christmas Eve dinner.

The sound of a throat clearing behind him made him pause, “Son.”

“Dad,” Tony responded, standing and turning around.  He felt his guard rise reflexively and it took a good amount of effort to drop it.

“You’re spending Christmas over at Bruce’s house, right?” Howard didn’t seem much more sure of this interaction than his son did.  That fact seemed to put both of them slightly more at ease.

“Yeah...” Tony started, unsure of where this was going, or if it was even going anywhere, “Did you want me to stay, or--”

“And listen to an old buzzard ramble on about the good old days with your mother and Uncle Steve?” Howard snorted, “I know you’d rather eat glass.”

Tony chuckled, “That does sound like me, yeah.”

“No, I’ll be fine.  I’ve got plenty of documentaries to tide me over, not to mention Rebecca’s leftovers.”  Tony’s father smirked, then fixed his gaze to the floor, scratching his scruffy adam’s apple, “I just figured I’d give you your Christmas present early.”

Tony fought the urge to roll his eyes.  He didn’t need any more expensive gifts, and he certainly didn’t need his father going back to his old ways of buying over affection and gifting away guilt.  It made him feel like a recurring mistake that could only be prevented with bribes.

“You didn’t have to buy me anything,” Tony shrugged, completely unaware of the fact that Howard had halved the distance between them already.

His father snorted before pulling him into an awkward embrace, “Good.  I figured this was a better idea anyway.”

Tony stood dumbfounded wrapped in his father’s arms.  Once his mind had caught up with the rest of him, the impulse to protest was impossible to ignore, “Dad, this is the lamest gift ever.”  Try as he might, though, Tony couldn’t fight back the smile threatening to split his face in two.

Howard chuckled in response, squeezing tighter, “Damn ingrate.”

“You really suck at this Dad stuff, huh?”

“Working on it,” Howard retorted gruffly, and Tony was pulled so tight he could feel the rumble in his father’s chest when he spoke, “Go have fun.  Try to make it back sometime before I’m dead.”

“If I _have_ to...”

“Little bastard,” Howard snarked back.  “Oh and do tell Rebecca I said hi.”

“ _Sure_ , Dad,” Tony replied.

“You’re not going to, are you?”

“Not a snowball’s chance in Hell.”

Howard shrugged, “Well, I tried.”

Tony shook his head as his father released him and turned to walk out the door.  He turned back to packing for a full minute before a shout rang back through the hall, “Hey, son?  Not that it’s any of my business who you’re sticking it to, but I found a pair of Pepper’s underwear in between the couch cushions, and I was wondering if she wanted to pick it up or if she just wanted me to swing by and leave it in her mailbox.”

“How in the Hell can he tell they’re Pep-- Oh God nevermind, I don’t even wanna know...” Tony muttered to himself, before cupping a hand beside his mouth to call back to his father.  “That’s alright, Dad, I’ll return them to her tomorrow afternoon!”  Still shaking his head, Tony pulled out his phone and composed a text to his best friend.   _‘On my way in two tics.  Just an fyi, Pep gave me a ring, I’m taking her ice skating tomorrow at two.’_  He fired it off.

He got a response as he was hopping in the ‘stang.   _‘That’s fine.  I’ll go visit Betty while you two are out.  See you soon.’_

_‘Yup.  See you soon.’_ Tony shot off before turning the ignition.

\--

Bruce directed away from Tony’s last text and into his contacts.  Well, it was now or never; he had approximately fifteen minutes until Tony showed up, depending on how the lights treated the teen on his way (and Tony had a tendency to run yellows that were verging on ‘orange’).  Bruce selected the number and hit dial.

Pepper heard her phone start to go off-- her first thought would have been Tony, and her second thought Happy, were it not for the standard ringtone.  She screwed closed the cap on the pink nail polish she'd been applying to her toes and pulled out the phone to check who was calling her.  It wasn't a number she immediately recognized, but she put it to her ear and answered.  “Hello?”

“Hey, Pepper, it’s Bruce.”

The girl brightened in response.  “Oh hey, Bruce, how are you?” she asked as she sprawled out on her stomach, kicking her feet in the air above her.

The young man chuckled self-consciously, reaching up to wring the back of his neck.  “Oh, I’m alright.  How are you…?”

“Fantastic," Pepper said.  She waited, but there was a growing silence on the other end of the phone-- likely the boy was collecting his thoughts as he was so prone to do.  "So...” she drew out knowingly, “what can I do for you?  You know, when you asked for my number in the mall, I _knew_ a call was coming.”  She fiddled with a rampant tube of mascara in her fingers, “I just didn’t _quite_ know when.”

He chuckled again before complimenting, “Perceptive.”  Bruce paused a moment.  “It’s about Tony, actually.”

Pepper gave a little laugh, rolling onto her back.  “Oh, isn’t it always when we talk?”

Bruce hummed out an affirmative.  “Nearly exclusively." 

"You're right, there was that _one_ time about Betty," she remembered with a quirk of lips.

"And I appreciated that," Bruce made sure to say-- he hadn't gotten a chance to thank her properly for her good advice.

"I was happy to help," Pepper responded with pep.  She carefully pinched the phone between her ear and shoulder, unscrewing the nail polish to finish her toes that were as of yet unpainted.  This little job _could_ have waited for tomorrow-- the outfit she planned to match with it wouldn't make its appearance until evening the next day in Tony's bedroom-- but she was anxious and excited and simply couldn't wait.  "And, I'd be more than happy to help again.  So, you were saying, about Tony…?"  She flicked the brush across a nail.

Bruce wet his lips.  He recognized this would be a little awkward, but he was resolute.  "Yeah, about Tony.  He… well, you and he are seeing one another again, I heard."

Pepper fought a blush at the insinuation.  "Well, yes, I guess, but not actually seriously or anything," she spoke quickly.  "I mean, I wouldn't mi-- oh gosh," she cut herself off flustered, capping the liquid again.  "We're not dating, if that's what you mean."

"Tony isn't exactly dating material, from what I've gathered," Bruce chuckled.

"No.  No, he is _not_ ," she readily agreed, sighing in relief at the provided out.  "Trust me, it's not even an option right now.  He's seeing someone else."

Bruce cleared his throat noisily.  "Yeah.  He is."

Both of Pepper's eyebrows arched.  Her first thought was that Bruce knew who it was that Tony was seeing, but a split-second more told her that Bruce was being far more direct than that.  "Oh my God.  You're not telling me--  He's seeing _you??_ "

The young man held back a chuckle.  "Well, 'I guess, but not actually seriously or anything'," he quoted her words from mere seconds before.

"Oh my gosh.  Oh my gosh," she repeated, shaking her head.  "That's all I can say: Oh.  My.  Gosh."

Her playful freaking out relieved a great deal of his former tension.  "Oh come on," Bruce laughed at her, "You're not actually surprised are you?  With all the jokes he made?  That _you_ made??"

The girl put up a hand in defense.  "Okay, to be fair, I _thought_ he was straight."

Bruce lifted an eyebrow and waited for her to process what she was implying of him.

"That's not to say you--" Pepper interjected, laughing off her embarrassment.  "I just thought you were asexual or something.  At least too married to your books to even consider it."

The teenage boy snorted, her jokes baring a good deal of resemblance to a few Tony had made in the past.  "But we're talking about Tony here," he stated, as if that explained the whole thing, which coincidentally, it pretty much did.  Quick-talking, charming, a smile engineered to melt hearts.  Though, Bruce personally considered himself more attracted to the crafty intellectual behind warm brown eyes that revealed how much more was there than most other boys his age.

Pepper let out a dreamy sigh, flopping back onto her back to study her pink fingernails.  "Yes, we are."  She rolled her eyes with a tickled scoff, "Playboy."

There was a short lull in conversation as both boy and girl ruminated their shared partner.  Then something occurred to Pepper.  She sat up again.  "But you called wanting to talk about more than that…?"

Bruce coughed into his hand.  He couldn't help it, he was grinning but he tried not to sound too amused.  "Yeah, well, I was thinking that if you hadn't gotten him anything for Christmas yet that maybe we could… ah… give him a joint gift."

Her eyebrows raised for the second time during the call.  Carefully she uncapped her nail polish and dragged the brush across another nail slowly, "I'm listening..."

\--

Bruce frowned hard at the question at the bottom of his test.  It was a stoichiometry problem, and normally he didn’t find them to be too difficult, but this one had stumped him and he’d had to skip it and come back to it.  He momentarily chewed the end of his pencil before glancing up at the clock hanging above the teacher’s desk.  There were only ten minutes left to the testing period... when had time moved so fast??  His brow furrowed as he tried some paths to balancing the chemical equations on his scratch paper.

A prod on his shoulder sidetracked him.  “ _Bruce_ ,” Tony whispered importantly behind him.

The teenager rolled his eyes, hunching over further to let his friend know he wouldn’t be responding.  It was one thing to try and get his attention during lecture, but during testing?  Completely inappropriate.  Tony would get them both zeros if they were caught.  What could he want that couldn’t wait ten minutes anyway?

“Bruce.  Big guy.  Hey!”

Bruce slammed his pencil down on his desk hard enough to accidentally break it and swivelled in his chair to give his friend a piece of his mind.  “Tony, what the Hell do--” his words died in his throat when he realized the other boy was buck naked at his desk.  But grinning no less like a fool for it.  Bruce looked down to find his clothes had vanished as well and he panicked only a moment before Tony said, “Bruce, for Christ’s sake, _wake up_.”

Probably sage advice.  Bruce groaned and pried his eyes open enough to find Tony laying beside him in his twin-sized bed.  Thankfully, they were both clothed.  And, also thankfully, he didn’t have to beat his head against that unsolvable equation any more.  He sighed and let his eyes slide back shut in relaxation-- not that Tony would let him have it.  “Bruce,” the other teen said.

“What is it, Tony?” he mumbled out, burying his head deeper into the warmth of his friend’s neck.

“Bruce, it’s Christmas, _get up_.”

The young man’s eyes popped open.  “Christmas?” he asked, as if he’d forgotten.

“Yes, Christmas,” Tony spoke as if he were talking to Thor, “December twenty-fifth?  The afterglow to the biggest consumerist orgasm of the year?  I’m assuming you’ve heard of it?”

Bruce sat up and aggressively rubbed his eyes with his knuckles.  He’d been looking forward to the holiday-- somehow it had still snuck up on him despite his friend’s daily countdown texts.  “Sorry.  I was having a weird dream.  You were in it,” he posed as an aside, knowing Tony would want to know.  “Are my mom and dad up?” he asked.

“I didn’t check,” he heard Tony grumble.  There was a pause, and then his friend strayed into the other available topic, as he was often prone to.  “So were we doing anything fun?” he asked, wiggling both eyebrows.

“Taking a chemistry test,” Bruce deadpanned.

“ _Chemistry_ , huh?  God, even your sex dreams are nerdy,” Tony snorted.

Bruce resisted the urge to inform him it hadn’t been a sex dream (well, not _quite_ ) and returned to the dialogue at hand.  “There’s not much point in getting up if they’re not up,” he presented logically, kicking his legs over the edge of the bed.  He pretended not to notice Tony’s pout (which was likely due to Bruce’s refusal to continue that thread of conversation) and grabbed his glasses, sliding the stems over his ears.  “At least, if it’s opening presents that you’re interested in.”  Which he _knew_ Tony had to be.  And Bruce was interested in having Tony open the presents he had gotten him.  So it all worked out.

“Well I would have been able to check if _someone_ hadn’t decided to coil around me in their sleep like a damned anaconda,” Tony responded, “Seriously, nobody as strong as you should ever be a sleep-cuddler.”

“It’s weird how you complain about things you like,” Bruce raised an eyebrow at his friend.

Before Tony could answer, an excited rapping sounded on the bedroom door.  “Darlings, are you awake yet?  Guess what today is!”

Bruce felt a smile tug the corners of his mouth upward at the sound of his mother’s voice; he hurried to jump out of bed and open his door.  The woman on the other side was wearing a bathrobe over her pajamas, along with a pair of fuzzy slippers.  He readily embraced her.  “Merry Christmas, Mom.”

Tony hopped out of bed next, albeit not as quickly as Bruce had.  “Merry Christmas, Mrs. B.”

She enwrapped both boys, one in each arm, for a hug.  “Merry Christmas, sweeties.”  After kissing each of them on the temple, she released them, then whispered excitedly, “I think Santa might have come by last night and put a few things under the tree... should we go look?”

Tony’s eyes lit up in spite of himself, but did his best not to jump at the offer.  He glanced over to Bruce briefly, then back at Mrs. Banner, “Did he?  Wow, I didn’t even hear him come down the chimney...”

“We were just about to check, Mom,” Bruce said, grabbing Tony’s hand in his and pulling him down the hall before he could embarrass himself any more.

“Settle yourselves in; I’ll be there in juuust a minute with a little hot cocoa for everyone!  Sound good?”

“Sounds great, Mom.”  Bruce laughed at his friend’s obvious awkwardness, “How gullible are you?  She doesn’t think we still believe in Santa Claus, she just said it to get your goat.”

“Are you sure?  Sometimes I wonder what age she thinks we are...” Tony murmured.

“Well, in your case, probably about five.  You know, considering how you act all the time.”  He elbowed his friend.

“I wonder if it’s too late to switch out your presents with coal,” Tony pouted.  They planted themselves in the front room on the floor.  Several more gift-wrapped boxes had shown up overnight, just as his mother had said, ostensibly purchased by his parents, joining the ones he and Tony had put under the tree.  The fireplace, which normally didn’t see a lot of use, had been lit earlier in the morning judging by the size of the flames licking at the logs.  It created a pleasant aura of warmth throughout the room, as well as an enjoyable crackling sound; Bruce turned his back to it, humming at the tingling sensation on his skin.

Mr. Banner lowered his newspaper to glance at them both.  “Merry Christmas, boys.”

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Banner,” Tony nodded.  Bruce nodded as well, but didn’t vocalize a greeting.

Rebecca returned with a tray of decorative mugs filled past the brim with hot cocoa.  She lowered it to their level.  “Here you go; Tony, yours is the one with extra marshmallows.”

“Thanks,” Tony responded as he took the mug, fighting back a blush at the extra sugary attention.

“Careful, Mom; you’ll spoil him,” Bruce grinned, taking his which had a peppermint stick stuck in it.  “Yep, definitely five,” he confirmed to Tony quietly as he brought the cup to his lips.  He blew on the surface before taking a quick sip, enjoying the mix of chocolate flavor and melted sugar as it temporarily steamed his glasses.  He stirred it with the hard candy.

“I’ll spoil who I feel like, David Bruce Banner, and you are not one to talk,” she scolded teasingly as she straightened up and walked over to her husband.  “Here you are, dear.”  Tony took that moment to stick his tongue out at Bruce discreetly.

“Thank you, Rebecca, that’s kind of you,” the man responded, folding up the paper and setting it aside before taking his warm beverage.

Last but not least, the mother took the tray back to the kitchen and brought her own mug with her as she found a place to sit on the couch.  “Well, what shall we start with?” Rebecca inquired rhetorically.  “Maybe that great _big_ one right there!”  She pointed to the biggest package under the tree, which had been wrapped in Peanuts paper with a continual patterns of Snoopy and Woodstock in the snow all over it.

Bruce set his cocoa on the coffee table to lean out and grab it.  He checked the tag.   _‘To: Tony, From: Mom’_.  “Looks like it’s for you,” he determined as he set the fairly heavy package down in front of his friend and grabbed his drink back up.

Tony peeled the wrapping paper away carefully, response stopping in his throat when the gift was revealed, replaced momentarily with gawking and an unintelligible series of ‘guh’s.  “Really?  Oh my God...” Tony was rendered practically speechless at the gift: an Edge Robotic Arm Kit.  His fingers were already twitching in anticipation to get this thing built and in use.  He turned to regard Bruce.  “First thing this is doing is snatching your textbook,” he teased.

“Oh really?” Bruce eyed him over his glasses, amused for reasons Tony didn’t yet know.

“But seriously, I had no idea I even wanted this until like five seconds ago.  Thanks Mrs. B.  Really.”

“You’re most welcome, sweetheart,” the woman trilled-- her excitement was comparable to Tony’s that he’d liked it so much.  “Bruce told me you had an interest in circuits and robotics, so when I saw it, I just _had_ to pick it up for you.”

Brian made a grunting-type noise from his armchair.  “He may as well open the other one while he’s at it, Rebecca.”

Bruce scrutinized the packages under the tree and came to the conclusion his father meant the approximately shoebox sized gift covered in iridescent red paper with a gold ribbon.  It was Tony’s as well, from his dad (though the man had simply written _‘From: Mr. Banner’_ on the tag, not quite so quick to ‘adopt’ the boy like his wife had); Bruce handed it over.

“Uh, wow, thanks,” Tony said before even bothering to unwrap.  It had been a long time since he’d had a Christmas like this, and it was really catching up to him now.  He slowly tore the wrapping paper off, smile spreading wider when he saw two fuzzy red dice staring back at him from the cover of the box.  There must not be any hard feelings about the ‘stang being in the garage then.  Tony snorted a laugh before he could catch himself, “Well now that’s interesting.”

“Is it?  How so?” Brian inquired.

Tony’s response was to fetch the small gift bag labeled ‘Mr. Banner’ and pass it to the man, “I think we were on the same wavelength.”

“Oh,” Bruce’s father seemed a bit surprised.  He pulled the tissue paper out of the top and found three gift cards underneath-- he thumbed through them... an Exxon gas card, a redemption for an oil change and brake check, and a gift card to Olive Garden (one of Rebecca’s favorite restaurants).  The normally gruff man’s demeanor brightened ever so slightly, eyebrows twitching upward on his head.  “These will be very useful.  Thank you, Anthony.”  He looked up and gave the young man an appreciative nod.

“Your welcome; Merry Christmas, Mr. Banner,” Tony nodded back.  Well _he_ thought it was a cool coincidence anyway.  “Mrs. B?  I think there’s one for you under there,” he added, pointing back towards the spot under the tree where he’d retrieved Brian’s gift bag from.

The woman lit up with a smile.  “Bruce, honey, would you fetch it for mommy?” she asked, but the boy was already halfway there by the time she got done asking, holding it out to her by the two string handles.

“I hope you like it.  It was a bestseller on Amazon.”  Tony smiled cautiously.

“Oh my, it’s heavy,” Rebecca commented, weighing it in her hands.  “I wonder what it could be!”  She plucked out the tissue paper and found a book underneath, which she excitedly removed.  “Fifty Shades of...”

Bruce shot a glare at Tony that said ‘ _You did_ not.’  Tony willed himself not to break down into a string of very unbecoming snorts.

“...Chicken?” the woman finished, already leafing through the novelty cookbook with wide eyes.  “Why, my goodness this certainly is a lot of new recipes to try out!  I think we’ll have to have poultry more often now,” she laughed.  “I can’t wait to try them, thank you very much, Tony, that’s lovely.”

“There’s something else in there,” Tony added, gesturing to the bag while soaking up the look on Bruce’s face.  That was definitely going into the mental snapshot gallery.  The spectacled boy face palmed.

“Oh, is there?” Rebecca reached her hand inside to find a Sephora gift card along with several different facial cream trial packets.  “You’re going to keep me looking young!” she laughed.

“You already look that, Mrs. B,” Tony put on his best charming grin.

Rebecca beamed effervescently, gesturing at the young man.  “Get up and give mommy a hug, that’s just so sweet of you!”  Tony stood and closed the gap allowing her to pull him into her arms.

Bruce watched with a smile and moved to retrieve the gifts he’d gotten his parents out from under the tree.  He delivered the first one to his father, and the second to his mother, who both thanked him politely and began removing the paper.

“Ahh, Friedrich Nietzsche,” Brian commented thoughtfully, nodding as he turned the book of philosophy around to read the back cover.  “Very interesting fellow with very interesting ideas... should be an engaging read.”  He tipped his head into a nod.  “Thank you for the gift, Bruce.”

Rebecca pressed a hand to her breast at the ornamental porcelain tea set half unwrapped in her fingers.  “This is just darling!” she cooed; Bruce smiled.  He’d returned the cookbook he’d originally gotten her after her clearance to the lab had been reapproved, knowing she’d have less time to dedicate to cooking.  She set it on the coffee table and hugged him extra tight.  “Thank you, Bruce.”  He got another kiss on the cheek before she let go.  “These two are yours, sweetie,” Rebecca said, reaching under the tree to hand him two gifts.  One was quite obviously a shoebox, the other was doubled up so that two separate gifts had been bound with ribbon as companions to each other.

Bruce sat with them, trying to decide which to open first.  He chose the one from his father, figuring (from years past) that he would get more enjoyment out of his mother’s.  He carefully slipped his index finger under the seam where the box had been taped on the bottom.  Meticulously he removed the wrapping as it had been put on, managing to not so even much as tear it.  A smirk stole over his lips as he took the box lid off the SAS container and inclined it at Tony so he could see the brand-new, shiny black penny loafers nestled neatly inside.

Tony just about choked on his hot chocolate, narrowing his eyes as he recovered, _‘I should have known...’_

“I hope you’ll get good use out of them,” Brian said.  “Much more appropriate footwear for a man of your age than those disgraceful things you’ve _been_ wearing.”

Bruce hid his amusement and looked back up at his father.  “Thanks,” he conveyed-- he could donate the old worn pair now.  He turned his attention to the double-gift still situated in his lap.  He unknotted the ribbon and pulled the paper off the top box-- it was a set of cookie cutters, including two Star Trek insignias, the Starship Enterprise, and the ‘Live Long and Prosper’ hand sign.  Bruce chuckled and continued on to the second, finding it was a Star Trek themed cookbook.  He couldn’t help but grin that his mother had managed to appeal to both a hobby of his and a guilty pleasure at the same time.  “Thanks, Mom.”

“You’re welcome, dearest,” Rebecca winked.  She placed her hands down in her lap.  “Well, what’s left?”

“I guess I could give you your gifts,” Bruce said, turning to look Tony’s way.  The brown eyes met his and he scratched the back of his head a little self-consciously, glancing back away as his heart momentarily fluttered.  He cleared his throat to try and dispel the feeling.  “Or vice versa.”

Tony nearly mimicked the action before he caught himself, “Whatever you wanna do... I’m cool either way.”  He was already turning Bruce’s first gift around in his hands absently.

“Well, I got you ah... three,” Bruce admitted, selecting the first he was least nervous about and handing it off to his friend.  It was book-shaped and definitely heavy.

Tony chuckled nervously, “Oh nice, we can take turns.  Or trade.  Whatever.”  He shrugged, handing the box over.

“Yeah, sounds good,” Bruce nodded, taking it.  He held Tony’s gaze a little longer than necessary, but affixed it to the gift now in his hands.  He turned it over a couple of times, appreciating the outside before the inside.  Then, like the last two gifts, he began peeling off the paper.

Tony was finished unwrapping before Bruce was even halfway done, letting out a snort that made Bruce pause.  He held up a copy of Giancoli’s 6th Edition AP Physics Textbook.

“I know you already know how it ends, but...” Bruce snarked.  “I figured you’d like a physical copy.  For... sentimental reasons.”

Tony rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hold back an amused grin, “How _very_ thoughtful of you.  I’m gonna live to regret giving you that sense of humor, aren’t I?”

“Possibly.  But it also gives your robot something to pick up,” he went on as he got the rest of the paper off his own gift.  His brow drew down in subtle befuddlement at the e-reader.  Well... it was a Tony-esque gift, he couldn’t deny that.  Though if the other teen thought he was going to convert him from traditional books... where he could feel and smell the paper, or underline sentences, or scribble notes in the margins, dog-ear the pages... then he was going to be disappointed.  “Do you expect me to use this?” Bruce asked bluntly.

“Bruce!” his mother admonished as soon as it came out of his mouth.

Tony looked down into his lap, “I figured it’s less to carry, and you read a lot...”  He twiddled his thumbs, “I put a bunch of books on it already.  All our textbooks... a few of the books you like to read.  I mean... you can check the list.  I know it’s a bit...” _‘Expensive?  Haughty?  Pretentious?’_  He chided himself before settling on an adjective, “...much, but I thought you might like it.  It’s a decent back-up at least.”

“Sorry,” Bruce coughed out an apology, feeling guilty about his outburst.  “I uh... yeah, I’ll find a use for it; thanks.”  He quickly set the Kindle down and reached for his second gift, hoping the next round went a little better.  “Here, um...” he issued eloquently, extending the large envelope-like package.

Tony laid it down next to him, handing Bruce a little gift bag and grimacing internally, hoping it’d be better received than the last gift.

From the similar packaging to the gifts Tony had given his mother and father, he presumed his likely also contained a gift card or two.  He pulled out the tissue paper and discovered a $100 certificate to their local mall.  Bruce chuckled, “Does this come with the guarantee I’ll have my ‘fashion consultant’ to help me spend it?” he asked.

“Only if you can beat him at DDR,” Tony replied with a grin.  Okay so Bruce wasn’t offended.  That was a good sign.

“Like that’ll ever happen,” Bruce shook his head as he felt around inside the bag, fingers finding something else.

“You almost beat me last time,” Tony argued, “With a little practice you could probably give me a run for my money.  I mean, if I had an off day...”

“Yeah, sure,” Bruce continued to chuckle as he removed the second plastic-wrapped item.  It was a pair of triangular... ear pieces, designed to slip onto the stems of a pair of glasses so they were less likely to slip down one’s nose.  Instantaneously he became aware of the fact that his glasses were currently resting a little low, and he tried to resist the natural instinct to push them up, but caved less than three seconds later, which only resulted in making him blush a vibrant red.  “I don’t really spend _that_ much time fixing them, do I?” he asked exasperatedly, but he already knew it must be the case considering the item in his hands.

Tony shrugged, “Only _all_ the time.  Not that it bothers me or anything... just kind of thought it might bother you.”

Bruce tried to swallow his embarrassment and motioned at his friend to go ahead and open the gift he’d given him.

Tony made short work of unwrapping his second gift, revealing a glow-paint ceiling star kit.  He wasn’t sure whether he should smile or groan in response.  It was a really thoughtful gift, and it ensured that Bruce would be spending some time over helping him put it up, but at the same time it made him feel less thoughtful and more like he was just throwing money around.  He smiled nonetheless; he really loved what Bruce had gotten him.  “Thanks, Bruce.  God, I’m already looking forward to putting this up.”

“Me too,” Bruce responded, pulling his friend in for a tight hug.  From the couch, Rebecca gave a coo at their affection.

“Well duh, of course,” Tony rolled his eyes as he was pulled in, “The kit does say ‘Astronomy consultant not included’.”

“Only if you can beat his GPA next semester,” Bruce countered smugly.

“Please,” Tony scoffed, “If even one star is out of alignment your snobby a-- er, butt would never be able to sleep over again.”  He still wasn’t used to censoring himself.

“Nice save,” Bruce mumbled with a smile.  He stalled, chewing at his inner lip.  Last gift...

“Here,” Tony practically thrust the last box into Bruce’s chest, as if he were embarrassed, or eager to get rid of it.  “Just to let you know, I just kind of figured it’d be a nice gesture to uh... yeah,” he finished lamely, reaching over to unbox and fiddle with the fuzzy dice.  God, if Bruce didn’t like this...

“Oh, um... thanks,” Bruce responded, not really understanding _what_ Tony meant by that, but not questioning it.  Wetting his lips, he began to unpackage the small gift slowly.  “Oh... it’s an iPod?” he blinked when he’d gotten the wrapping off.  That was certainly unexpected.  Though not at all in a bad way.  It kind of tickled him Tony was looking to share his music-listening hobby with him.  He looked up at the other teen knowingly-- if he’d customized the Kindle, he would have customized this too.  “What’s on it?” he inquired curiously.

“Hm?  Oh, uh... music, mostly.”  He stopped when he realized what Bruce was really asking, and wanted to smack himself, “Oh!  Oh, right, I already loaded it with a few albums.  You know, just some stuff I knew you liked already.  No self-respecting nerd can’t have the entire Jonathan Coulton discography, for one thing.  JARVIS is on there too,” he prattled on nervously, not giving away the self-composed album that was on there as well.

Bruce chuckled to himself.  “That’s really neat.  Thanks, Tony.”  He smiled warmly and gave his friend another hug, resisting the urge to do more than that in front of his parents.  “I really like it.”

“Really?” Tony blinked rapidly.

“Yeah, I’ve never had a music player before...” Bruce said thoughtfully, beginning to pull the device out of its packaging to examine it and all its included accessories with interest.

“You need to connect it to a computer to add music or charge it,” Tony twirled the dice around his finger lazily.  “I know the one you have here is only for work and school stuff, so you can use mine when you need to add music, and there’s a wall charger in your stocking, so yeah.”

Bruce nodded.

The plush dice flew off Tony’s finger and landed a short distance away, a timely reminder that he’d been staring at Bruce too long again.  He cleared his throat, breaking eye contact, “Oh, you said you got me three, right?”

“I um--” Bruce got out.  “Y-yeah.”

“Well out with it,” Tony teased, “It can’t be as bad as a _Kindle_.”

“It’s not that...” Bruce started but then laughed at himself.  “You’re right, sorry.”  He pulled out a tiny gift the size of a ring box and shakily extended it.

Tony’s eyes went wide and he swallowed, a hand that was only slightly less shaky reaching out to take it.  That wasn't… it _couldn't_ …  He tried giving it an inconspicuous little shake, maybe see if there was any sound that might give its contents away.  Unfortunately, whatever sound it might have made was drowned out by the blood literally pounding in his ears.  “Thanks,” he exhaled, picking a corner and starting to tear at the wrapping paper.

_‘Oh thank God.  It’s not an actual ring box,’_ Tony thought with a sigh of relief, opening the lid.  Bruce shifted where he sat.

“It’s a guitar pick...” Tony said aloud as he held it up to inspect.  Custom engraving.  He recognized the line immediately-- it was from Heal Over.  He read the text to himself: _‘Everybody sails alone...’_  He chuckled, turning it to read the other side: _‘But we can travel side by side.’_  He felt himself smile a mile wide for the umpteenth time that morning.  Ring or not, the sentiment was damn near the same.  His heart skipped a beat at the thought.

“Wow.”  Tony grinned madly, unable to stop himself, “Just wow, Bruce.”

“G-good?” Bruce inquired, still obviously a little nervous and withdrawn.

“Not good, Bruce: Freaking epic!” he corrected, still gushing.  “God!  Thank you!” he beamed, pulling his friend roughly into a one-armed hug.

Bruce smiled and hugged him back, not letting go.  “I didn’t know if you’d... well, I didn’t know how _much_ you’d like it...” he started to admit before deciding to stop in case he said more than he meant to.  It was just _one_ song that Tony had played _one_ time in his basement...  It had meant so much to him; he hadn’t even been sure Tony would remember he’d sung it.  Bruce exhaled a sigh of relief.

“Are you kidding?” Tony retorted, “I got _trumped_ today.”

Bruce chuckled.  “Can’t win at everything.”  He then gave his friend a playful shove.  “Thanks for everything though.”

“No problem, just... put it to good use...” Tony shoved back.  “If you start to feel pretentious, just pretend they’re made out of cardboard or something,” he added with a mumble.

“I am a little worried about looking a little ‘too cool’ when I get back to school with all this,” Bruce joked, leaning back happily.

“Bruce, you’re cool _already_.” Tony replied honestly, “I got those for _you_ , not your image.”

Now that the boys had finished exchanging gifts with one another, Rebecca stood to go over to the tree and grab the very last present still under the tree, which was from her to her husband.  She walked over and placed it in his hand with a gentle smile.  “Dear.”

The man took it and looked to his son.  “Bruce, I left your mother’s gift up in the study, would you go get it?”

“Oh,” the young man blinked, “Yeah, of course.”  He uncrossed his legs out from under himself and went to go fetch it.

In the meantime Brian unwrapped the small box he had been given.  It was a new wrist watch.  To be more specific, it was a Higgs Boson watch, which had three spiralling hands... second, minute and hour to tell the time, the face depicting the unique ‘event display’ produced by ATLAS.  It was also a fairly sleek, sharp looking watch that even non-particle physicists could appreciate.  The man smiled in a pleased fashion.  “Thank you, Rebecca.  It’s very charming.”  He chuckled, “I’m sure the boys at work will all be very jealous.”

Bruce had taken the climb up to the study fairly quickly, and upon stepping inside, he immediately honed in on the gift his father had been talking about sitting in the center of his desk.  He walked over to grab the small, flat white container, hesitating when he noticed that his father’s normally immaculate table was cluttered with many old things Bruce had never seen in his life before.  He blinked and pushed his glasses up, momentarily rooted to the spot and torn between what he’d been simply asked to do and what curiosity was compelling him to do...

Even though he knew it was a breach of privacy, he moved around to the opposite side of the desk to look at the mementos right-side up.  Several of them didn’t even make sense to him... an old wooden chess piece, a few wrinkled movie theatre stubs, an audio cassette tape that’s label ‘Orchestra’ had nearly faded away, a small ornamental box with some postage stamps inside, a library membership card decades past expiration, an empty perfume bottle, a dried magnolia flower that had been laminated to preserve it.  And plenty more.  He scanned over the items, gaze pausing momentarily on a pair of plane ticket stubs to Berlin dated to ‘85 and an old pamphlet advertising a week-long excursion in Eastern Europe, touring in Germany and Russia and the Ukraine.  Bruce picked it up, browsing the sights and destinations; he’d never even known his parents had travelled overseas or heard anything about their honeymoon...  The discovery made him both smile and frown.

“Bruce!” his father’s voice beckoned from downstairs.  Without so much as a second’s delay, Bruce slammed the pamphlet back down where he’d found it and hurried out of the study and down the stairs with the requested gift in hand.

“Ah, there it is...” Brian smiled as his son delivered it, taking it delicately.  “Rebecca,” he regarded his wife, walking over to present it to her with his palms up.

Bruce sat back down beside his friend, though his mind was still upstairs in his father’s study...

The woman lifted her hands to clasp either side of the little white lid, and as she pulled it up she gave a gasp.  “Brian!  Oh my goodness... it’s gorgeous!” she said breathlessly.

“Try it on,” the husband urged, plucking the piece of jewelry out, “I want to see it on you...”

Bruce watched with quiet interest as his mother turned sideways on the couch, drawing her long hair to the front over a shoulder so his father could loop the white gold chain around her neck.  The pendant was in the shape of a heart and had three small round diamonds faceted into it-- it was very pretty, and sparkly.  It confused Bruce, who had never known his father to spend large sums of money on frivolous possessions, jewelry most especially-- both their wedding bands were very simple and unadorned and his mother had never worn earrings or anything of the like.

Brian closed the clasp and then stepped back so she could turn in her seat and show him.  He gave a low hum.  “Gorgeous,” he agreed, “Just like you.”

Her eyes filled with emotion.  She looked down at the pendant now sitting on her breast, touching it.  “But Brian... whatever compelled y-you...?”

He leaned in and kissed her deeply.  Bruce cautiously averted his gaze.

When the man withdrew, he took her hand in both of his.  “I’d like you to wear it everyday to work... if you would,” he requested.

“Y-yes, of c-course...” she stammered, obviously still very emotional.  “Oh, Brian... thank you.”

“Merry Christmas, Rebecca,” he returned.

Bruce leaned over and jammed his elbow into Tony’s side.  “You wanna go to your place?” he suggested, sensing his parents might like some time alone.

Tony understood immediately why Bruce would make the suggestion.  He glanced at the wall clock.  Yeah, they had plenty of time.  “Sure, but you should probably say goodbye first.”

Bruce cleared his throat.  “Mom, Dad?  We’re gonna go over to Tony’s house,” he inclined his head at his friend.

“Oh, alright, dear,” Rebecca responded.

The two teens began gathering their gifts up from the floor.  Bruce took all his things back to his bedroom, except his new iPod, which he pocketed as soon as he’d changed out of his pajamas and into his day clothes.  It’d give them a little something to do when they got there-- Tony could teach him how to use it, though it was probably fairly intuitive.  He looked up at his friend, who was dressing as well.  “Sneakers or loafers?” he asked with a grin.

“Don’t you start,” Tony glared, “I swear, of all the family traditions to perpetuate... your dad picked penny loafers??”

Bruce just laughed as he slid his feet into the pair of sneakers his friend had gotten for him.  Ready, they headed back out to the entry.

“Thanks for everything!” Tony called back into the living room as he did up the buttons on his coat.  “I had a great time.”

“It was so nice having you over!” Rebecca responded.  “Oh, and do say hi to your father for us.”

“Will do.  Merry Christmas!”

And out the door they went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Christmas! Here's some of the gifts just for fun:  
> Edge Robotic Arm Kit - http://www.thinkgeek.com/product/b696/  
> Star Trek Cookbook - http://www.thinkgeek.com/product/e8ce/?srp=6  
> Star Trek Cookie Cutters - http://www.thinkgeek.com/product/ed0a/images/15049/  
> Higgs Boson Wrist Watch - http://techmash.co.uk/2012/11/07/animated-higgs-boson-watch  
> Fifty-Shades of Chicken Cookbook - http://www.fiftyshadesofchicken.com/  
> 'Wedgees' Glasses Securers - http://www.wedgees.com/


	26. Chapter 26

“Hey dad. I brought Bruce over. Is that okay? Awesome, thanks,” Tony announced, asked, and thanked his father within seconds of opening the front door.

“Shoes.”

The accused gave a chuckle as he kicked off his slip-on tennies and removed his jacket, hanging it on the nearby coat rack. “Merry Christmas to you too, Mr. Stark,” Bruce greeted.

“It’s alright,” Tony said as they walked into the front room. “He remembered this time.”

“Excellent, he _can_ be trained,” Howard teased, turning his head to address Bruce from his recliner, “Did Tony tell your mother Merry Christmas for me?”

Bruce slid his glance over to Tony. “No, sir, I don’t believe he did,” he answered-- despite how the man had told him to call him ‘Howard’ off-the-clock, Bruce couldn’t help but maintain a certain amount of formality simply because of what he was used to in his own home. “My mom says hi though. For her and my dad both.”

“ _And_ he left before Christmas dinner. It’s like he’s trying to _kill_ me,” Howard groaned dramatically as he stood. “You don’t just share leftovers of that caliber, invite me to Thanksgiving dinner with the chef, and then just cut me off on Christmas day. It’s like going cold-turkey.” Bruce shook his head gently from side to side at this display; no one who spent any time around Howard could say Tony hadn’t gotten his mannerisms from his old man.

“Correction,” Tony interrupted, “You raided the fridge, you invited _yourself_ over for Thanksgiving, and I’m sure Bruce’s mom is gonna send Bruce back with leftovers later anyways because she knows we only eat take-out.”

Bruce chuckled at the argument rising between father and son. “Don’t worry, Mr. Stark, I’ll make sure you get some leftovers in a special container with your name on them,” he promised.

“Thank you, Bruce,” Howard nodded before flicking Tony sharply on the ear.

“Ow! The Hell was that for?” Tony griped, rubbing his ear.

Howard shrugged, “You’ll deserve it sooner or later.”

“More likely sooner than later,” Bruce commented with amusement as he hooked his arm into Tony’s to pull him towards his room. The other teen tried to force a scowl but inevitably softened as he was dragged away. “I swear, your dad has the biggest crush on my mom,” Bruce commented under his breath.

“Don’t encourage him, _please?_ ” Tony pleaded.

“It was just an observation,” Bruce stuck out his tongue.

Once they were in his room, Tony shut and locked the door in one swift motion, swiveling on his heel to push Bruce towards the bed with a devilish smirk. The boy cocked an eyebrow as he let his friend push him a couple steps backward. “I was bringing us up here so you could show me how to use my new gift, but you seem to have a different plan,” Bruce tread cautiously. Tony didn’t know it, but if he didn’t watch it, his libidinousness might catch up with him...

Tony paused his actions. “I was just...” he faltered for a second, “Well, since I’m going out with Pepper at two and we’re probably--” He scratched the back of his neck. Was Bruce teasing him now, or did he just take his suggestion back at the Banners’ the wrong way? He let out a confused chuckle, “You don’t want to?”

Bruce cleared his throat. “It’s not that. It’s that...” he paused, motioning with a hand, “well, like you said, you’re seeing Pepper later and...” he smiled awkwardly, “it would be nicer to her if I didn’t wear you out.”

Tony snorted. “I was only gonna suck you off,” he reassured nonchalantly, “Not like my jaw ever suffers a lack of exercise anyways, right?”

Bruce couldn’t help the smirk that spread across his face; Tony must have _really_ liked his Christmas gifts-- even though he hadn’t gotten the last one yet. “Never.” He took a seat on the corner of Tony’s bed and unbuckled his belt. “I guess figuring this thing out can wait,” he said, reaching into his pocket and tossing the iPod towards the bed.

“Careful with th--” Tony started, until he saw the device land neatly on a pile of kind-of-clean shirts. “Nevermind,” he said with a grin, nimble fingers making short work of undoing Bruce’s fly. He pushed the big guy onto his back and lowered to his knees.

\--

The eight cylinders of Tony’s mustang rumbled as the teen pulled up to the curb of the Ross abode. Bruce pushed open the passenger door and started to step out. “Thanks again for the ride. Have a good time with Pepper.”

“And you have a good time with Betty,” Tony replied.

Bruce gave an amused snort. “Somehow I think you’ll have a ‘better time’ with Pepper then I will with Betty,” he responded, eyeing his friend over the top of his glasses.

“Hey, not my fault you chose monogamy,” Tony lifted his hands from the steering wheel to put them up defensively in front of him.

“If only the rest of us could so easily dismiss holding ourselves to the constraint of a single sex partner,” Bruce issued flippantly, though there was a hint of a grin on the edges of his lips that said he was only giving his friend a hard time.

“Would it have killed you to say I was more than enough?” Tony deadpanned.

“No, but I’m fearful of the repercussions it might have had to your ego.” Bruce stepped back and pat the hood of the car twice. “Now _go_ before you’re late to pick up Pepper and she calls me up to ask me what I’ve done with you this time. I’ll see you later.”

“Yep,” Tony confirmed. “I’ll text or something when I’m free. Later.”

They each gave a short wave before Tony drove off, thankfully refraining from burning rubber in the process. Bruce watched him go before turning to head up the driveway, making the short journey at a stately pace. He’d been looking forward to seeing Betty, so he was a little excited, but he was also a little apprehensive about the ‘talk’ they were planning to have during his visit. He still felt a little foolish about his outburst at the arcade... not that he minded her knowing about he and Tony, that wasn’t it, it was more that he felt he’d brought it up for the wrong reasons.

Shaking his head to clear it of his current thoughts, Bruce stepped up to the porch. He was fairly certain Mr. Ross was around this time of year-- so often the man was deployed somewhere or another due to his military career-- it had been a long time since he had seen him; he wasn’t completely sure what to expect. Well, other than his propensity towards being overprotective of his daughter. Regardless Bruce lifted his knuckles to rap them against the door. He then slid both hands back into his pockets, committing his gaze to the neatly trimmed hedge plant as he waited for either Betty or her dad to answer the door.

The portal swung open and standing on the other side was an upright, straight-backed man with greying hair and big, bristly mustache. General Thaddeus Ross hadn’t aged a day since Bruce had last set eyes on him. “Bruce,” the man acknowledged, though not as bitterly as Bruce had remembered from his childhood. “Elizabeth said you’d be coming. Come in.”

“Thank you, sir,” Bruce spoke politely as he stepped into the house. It was much warmer; he unzipped his jacket. “How has your leave been this holiday?”

The general nodded, “Well, for the most part.” He extended a hand to offer to take the coat.

Bruce gave an ‘oh’ before nervously fiddling with one of the lapels... he was fairly certain the man was just intending to hang it up for him, but there was the possibility he’d be looking to search his jacket for anything incriminating. And since his pack of cigarettes were in the left breast pocket, he wasn’t willing to risk it. “That’s okay, sir. Thanks.”

The man gave a dismissive shrug. “How’ve you been faring in Westmore?” His mustache twitched on his upper lip.

The teenager cleared his throat; he had no doubt that it had been no small relief to Betty's father when he learned that Bruce had been transferred 'a safe distance' from his daughter. “Fairly well, actually, sir. I’ve... um... got a handle on my ‘anger problem’ now,” he informed the man, well-aware of the examining gaze that was being given to him; he hoped Betty came to save him... and quick.

Thaddeus nodded, patting him on the shoulder while speaking in a conspiratorial tone, “It’s alright boy; I understand. It must have been hard for you.” The sympathy was disarming to say the least, and for some reason Bruce felt like the general and he were referring to two different things. “Elizabeth is up in her room.”

Bruce opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “I think... I’ll go there then... if that’s alright?” he asked, clearly convinced he was somehow being baited to do something he shouldn’t. He could recall Mr. Ross being very strict when he visited in the past to ensure he and Betty (even from a very early age) were ‘supervised’, told to play where they could be seen. Though perhaps the father’s concerns were directed upon Betty’s current boyfriend more now than him; he might have ‘slid under the radar’, so to speak.

The general nodded in response, “There’s diet coke in the fridge if you get thirsty.”

“Sir,” Bruce nodded one last time before diverting in the direction he remembered, trying to resist the urge to scurry up the stairs and get away ASAP. The girl’s bedroom door was open, and he let out a sigh he didn’t remember holding in as he approached. He found her on her bed with her laptop open. “Hey Betty. Merry Christmas.”

“Oh hi, Bruce. Merry Christmas!” Betty said cheerfully as she closed the device and stood from her bed to embrace him, “Looks like you made it past the first line of defenses in one piece.” Her blue eyes glittered upon delivery.

“Yeah,” Bruce laughed, giving her a good long hug back. “I thought there’d be an interrogation process, maybe a few waivers I had to sign,” he joked back.

“For someone who seemed to get in here pretty easily, you look pretty rough.” Betty’s face showed mild concern; she lifted a hand to chase a stray lock of curly hair out of Bruce’s eyes and back with the rest. “Did he say something to you?”

“It’s what he _didn’t_ say that caught me off-guard,” Bruce chuckled as he made himself comfortable, taking a seat on his friend’s bed. “I was expecting a ‘Keep your hands off my daughter!’-- guess Leonard gets those now, huh?”

Betty giggled, sliding herself in next to him. “He does, but then again, so does every one of my male study buddies. I just told him you weren’t a threat,” she gave him a playful poke on the shoulder.

Bruce sat in partially stunned surprise. “How did you get him to believe you?” he asked.

Betty hummed to herself, amused; she affixed her gaze upward, remembering the conversation vividly, “Well it was tough convincing him, I won’t lie. First I told him that you weren’t interested in me. He said that I couldn’t know for sure and that boys lie.” She chuckled, setting both her hands in her lap, “So then I told him that I wasn’t your type. He said boys don’t have a type; they’re scavengers.” The girl gave a snort and paused to allowing her friend a moment to catch up.

“And so...?” Bruce inquired as he was led along.

“I told my dad that you wouldn’t because your boyfriend would kill you before he had a chance.”

Bruce externally paled. This subject had come up quicker than he would have liked. “I guess that would explain it,” he got out hoarsely. From now on he supposed the General would consider him one of his daughter’s ‘gal pals’.

“Oh relax,” her eyes rolled, “This isn’t the 1940s.”

Bruce forced a smile; she still didn’t quite get it. “I know. That’s fine. I just...” Ugh, was he going to talk about this or keep stalling forever? “Well, you know Tony and I aren’t _actually_ boyfriends, right? Because Pepper is just joking.”

Betty gave him a look, “I know that, but it’s not that hard of a story to swallow. You two are practically joined at the hip. I can think of a handful of times I’ve called you and he’s been the one who answered the phone. That’s saying a lot, considering you used to be skittish about sharing a _pencil_.”

Bruce felt his cheeks heat at that accurate accusation-- it held at least for everyone _but_ Betty, who once she’d nabbed his book and they’d become friends, they’d shared everything. “I know it seems like we’re close. I mean, we _are_ close,” he corrected-- he really needed to choose his words carefully instead of just letting the first thing that came to mind tumble out. “Tony doesn’t want a relationship. A-and... neither do I.” Okay, well that second one wasn’t fully truthful, but for all intents and purposes it might as well have been the truth. Since not wanting a relationship and not being able to be in a relationship were the same on the outside.

Betty swallowed down the urge to disprove that fact with her own evidence, but knew it’d be betraying Tony’s confidence. Though part of her wanted to say _‘Screw Tony; he didn’t listen when I told him to tell Bruce.’_ Sighing, she spoke softly, “Are you _sure_ he doesn’t want a relationship, and that he didn’t just say that because he knew that you didn’t?”

Bruce wondered if this conversation was supposed to be making him dizzy and/or give him a headache. He removed his shoes and shifted to lie on his friend’s bed, folding his hands over his stomach and gazing at the canopy over Betty’s four-poster bed. “I never told him I didn’t. You think he assumed it?” Okay, stupid question. What he ought to have said was that he knew Tony didn’t because Tony was as involved with Pepper as he was with him. He mentally berated himself.

Betty raised an eyebrow, “When did the topic come up in conversation?”

“I’m saying it didn’t. It hasn’t.” At least, not to his knowledge.

“So why were you so convinced he doesn’t?”

“I think if he was, he’d have told me,” Bruce answered with absolute certainty.

Betty mentally cursed Tony for being almost as difficult as Bruce. “Okay, first off, how did this happen? I mean this whole ‘friends with benefits’ thing,” she finished with air quotes.

Bruce chuckled. He sort of felt like a patient being asked questions about his past and ‘how that made him feel’. Betty and Leonard probably got along great. Bruce took a deep breath and answered, “He ran away from home and I found him. We had a shouting match, made up, and then...” he trailed off, wondering if that was an adequate summarization.

Betty watched with amusement as Bruce’s eyes lit up recanting the tale, but frowned as he left her hanging, “And then...”

Bruce looked at her like it should be obvious. “We went back to his place and had relations. It’s kind of been the same ever since,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Wait wait, so he invited you back to his place and just like that you ‘related’?” Betty tried not to roll her eyes at the outdated sex lingo. Maybe it was the 1940s after all.

“I think I’m the one who suggested his place...” Bruce struggled to recall, hung up unnecessarily on the specifics.

“You mean to tell me nobody made a first move?” she asked incredulously, “You just up and decided to go back to his place and have sex?”

The teenage boy frowned a bit at the confusion, speaking up to rectify it. “Tony made the first move. Betty...” he couldn’t help but laugh, sitting up to gesture, “after what happened between us, you wouldn’t actually think _I_ would...” His breath ran out suddenly then and he looked extremely remorseful for having said it.

“Oh...” Betty felt a small pang of guilt at the memory, but it was overshadowed by the tell that Bruce had unknowingly given her, “So he _kissed_ you...”

Bruce felt his gaze lower self-condemningly, feeling a cloud of guilt hanging over him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this conversation to go in this direction. I actually... wanted to talk about you and I.” He looked up again to secure eye-contact.

“Bruce. As much as I appreciate the apology, it’s water under the bridge. You can’t keep beating yourself up about the past, because you’ll never be able to learn and move forward from it.” She shook her head, dark hair falling over her shoulders. “Feeling down on yourself won’t help anyone else any more than it would help you.”

Maybe it was water under the bridge for her, but for him he still felt the same frightening reservations he’d had when he was younger. He reached out and grabbed her hand to hold it in his, trying not to squeeze too hard. “I know it’s in the past, but... there’s something I _have_ to tell you about it...”

“Bruce...” Betty started again.

“I loved you back,” he interrupted. He looked up and caught her gaze to speak sincerely, “I really did.”

It was no surprise to her. She had been so sure of his feelings at the time, which was why his rejection had been so devastating in the first place. It had taken her a long time to convince herself that there wasn’t anything wrong with her, and by the time she’d regained herself, the rift between them had grown too wide. He probably had assumed she’d hated him after that, but the reality was that the time they’d spent estranged from each other emotionally had been too much or too little to pick up where they left off. That and Bruce had been extremely distant. Though there was one question she needed him to answer, a worry she needed dispelled, “Bruce, you’re not-- I mean, you don’t still--”

The boy took a calming breath. “No,” he said, “I mean... I probably could again but...” It had been a long time ago and he’d considered himself ‘over’ Betty romantically for a couple years now-- transferring to Westmore had helped in that regard when he no longer had to see her walking in the halls between classes or sitting in the cafeteria or waiting at the bus stop... times he’d desperately wanted to go over to her, sit down, start up a conversation, run his hands through her silky hair. Bruce felt his eyes water at the difficult memory. “Even if I did...” he halted that line of thought temporarily. “I don’t want you to take any of this the wrong way. I’m glad you have Leonard now,” Bruce spoke firmly and honestly.

“I still love you, Bruce, just not the same way I used to.” Betty smiled reassuringly.

Bruce smiled back but forced himself to go on, “You have to understand, when you kissed me... I got scared I’d hurt you...” His fingers threatened to retract themselves from her hand, as if still scared he’d somehow hurt her physically just by the act of touching her. “I thought l-loving someone _meant_ h-hurting them...” his voice hiccupped upon admitting the misguided childhood viewpoint. There’d just been so much violence during his younger years... so much he didn’t understand; he was still coping with that, even to this day.

“Bruce, I can’t imagine how it would feel to grow up around that...” she exhaled, “But you’re not your father. Of course you’re bound to share some of his personality, but you don’t have to share his choices.”

He gulped. It felt good to hear that from her, but at the same time it felt like pressure was slowly crushing in around him, making it hard to breathe and speak. “Y-yeah, I guess. It’s just... hard for me. I w-want to be better than him... but I don’t know if I _c-can_...” he choked out.

Betty seemed to be pondering a response before standing up, signaling Bruce to come follow her out of the bedroom door, “Let’s get some fresh air. Grab your jacket.”

He nodded unquestioningly, grabbing said article to push his arms into it before slipping his shoes back on as well. Betty led him to the back porch, pointing to her Daddy’s ashtray sitting on the outside windowsill, “You can ash there.”

Bruce’s brown eyes went wide behind his spectacles. “Son of a--” he drug a hand through his hair with exasperation.

“Smoker?” she finished pointedly, “Daughter, rather, but yes. I know your mannerisms like the back of my hand; a nicotine fit stands out like a sore thumb.” She punched him lightly on the arm, “Relax, I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“Thanks,” Bruce responded with a nervous laugh, but already he was pulling his pack and matches out of his pocket. He made quick work of lighting up, the action quite practiced by now. Drawing and exhaling a lungful of smoke, he contemplated how to return to the conversation they’d been having upstairs. “I’ve just noticed... tendencies I have,” he tried to explain, gesturing with the cigarette out in front of him, “They scare me into thinking I might never be able to have a romantic relationship.” He paused his lips on the end of the vice. “With you or anyone else.”

Betty shook her head. “I think you could, it’s just... you _are_ scared. I thought that back then too. I didn’t _want_ to give up or leave you alone... but...” she sighed wistfully, “I guess I realized that you weren’t ready, and I couldn’t force you to be.” She watched Bruce nod. “You’ve changed a lot since back then, and I bet you’ll be a great boyfriend someday.”

“The confidence _is_ nice,” Bruce said, rocking back and forth from his heels to the balls of his feet as he smoked.

“For what it’s worth, I believe that even more now than when we were little,” she tried with a smile.

“Mm...” Bruce acknowledged. He glanced at her in his peripheral vision, “I think for the most part you’ve seen a lot of my good side and a lot less of my bad side.” He’d saved her from that, as intended, though at its own cost. Tony meanwhile, had seen and experienced plenty of both... which Bruce still wasn’t terribly proud of. He rubbed the knuckles of his hand briefly before self-consciousness compelled him to stop.

“I saw enough,” Betty replied, sounding a little more serious than she’d intended. It was true; she’d been on the way to her locker the day Bruce had snapped on her two classmates and the teacher who had tried to pry him off. She’d seen a lot of Brian in him that day, but more than anything else she saw pain. He’d been hurting, and he was releasing it the only way he’d ever seen anyone release such a powerful emotion. She felt a pang of guilt that next morning when she’d found out he wasn’t going to be coming back. Her chin plummeted in remembrance. “For a little while there, I told myself that maybe if I’d pushed through and stuck around, you might have had someone to talk to and maybe it wouldn’t have gotten so bad...” She pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear.

“It might have made things worse,” Bruce admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand not holding his smoldering cigarette. He tapped ash into the tray before taking another drag. “It’s still there though.” He moved his hand in front of his chest in a stirring motion, smoke rising from the freshly-exposed tip. “I have better... control, but the anger hasn’t gone away.” If he tried, he could feel it there... just moments away, caged only by his force of will.

Betty’s shoulders squared once more. “Problems never just ‘go away’, Bruce. You can only work around them until you can figure out how to fix them.” Betty motioned, “That cigarette, for example. It might calm you down for now, but in the end it’s just a distraction. Whatever made you want that cigarette didn’t go away.”

He nodded in pensive agreement. The difficulty of it was that he didn’t see any way to approach his psychosis head-on. He just might end up living out the rest of his life moving from one distraction to the next... Bruce surprised himself when his thoughts led him to chuckle softly. “You know, Tony makes for a pretty good distraction.”

“I can see that,” Betty giggled. Sexual relationship or not, she knew Tony could hold an entire room captive in his palm, let alone Bruce.

“We had sex the other night,” Bruce interjected. “Like _actual_ sex, with penetration,” he explained, seeming uncharacteristically excited and open. His eyes slid shut at he took another pull off his cigarette, savoring both the nicotine and the memory at the same time. He had to be careful to not groan as he exhaled, “That was just... amazing.” God he was looking forward to tonight.

“Oh wow.” Betty gaped, almost tempted to ask for details. She settled for a single careful question, “So were you... um... God, how am I supposed to say it?” she finished as she fought back another giggle.

Bruce gave a cough into his hand which inadvertently became a longer wheeze; he recovered. “Sorry, what was that?” he asked, a bit embarrassed.

“Who was on top?” she asked, feeling weird saying it out loud.

The boy felt the compunction to tease his female friend. He crossed his arms. “Which would be ‘cuter’?”

“I think you two passed ‘cute’ two bases back,” Betty retorted, “Now dish.”

Bruce grinned at her wit. “I was,” he relinquished. “Not that I’m uninterested in trying the reverse. It just hasn’t come up yet.” He tapped his cigarette into the glass tray again; he was a few puffs from finishing his vice. Judging from his current emotional state, he didn’t think he’d need a second. He’d gotten a lot of what he needed to off his chest and was feeling considerably better for it.

Betty giggled. “Okay, I lied; it’s still cute,” she teased, then paused to contemplate exactly how truthful she could be without betraying Tony’s confidence, “And don’t get too in your head about this, but I have a gut feeling about Tony. Promise me you’ll talk to him about what you two are doing. Make sure you’re on the same page.”

He exhaled a breath of smoke, nodding again. “Yeah, I probably should approach him.” His lip twitched momentarily and he studied her blue eyes, “I know you’d like to see us ‘romantically involved’, and that moreover you’re just looking out for us. I’d have to be pretty pig-headed to turn down advice from a good friend.” He gave her a smile to convey his sincerity in saying that.

“God, you make me sound like I’m some kind of cupid,” Betty said as she tried not to sound too excited by the thought. “I’m just saying that in _any_ relationship, communication is key, and I’d hate for you two to get all awkward and muck it up,” she teased, trying to lighten the mood, “ _Then_ who would I go to the mall with?”

“Pepper?” Bruce conjectured with a shrug.

“Well then we’d have no one to carry our bags,” Betty scoffed, “ _And_ we wouldn’t be able to enjoy ourselves because we’d just be sitting around worrying about you two.”

Bruce chuckled and took one last pull before extinguishing the butt of his cigarette into the glass dish, tossing it back into the pack until he could find a trash bin-- if he recalled, the General had a preference for cigars, and Bruce didn’t want to leave any incriminating evidence behind. Better he remain on good terms with the man. The current subject reminded him, “Have you opened my presents yet?”

“No,” Betty blinked, surprised she’d forgotten, “I saved them for when you got here. They’re under the tree still. I’ll go open them now.”

Bruce grinned and stepped forward to hold the door for her so they could go back inside. “After you.”

Betty smiled warmly and led the way, stopping to kneel by the tree. It was a really nice tree, Bruce noticed, an authentic fir with several gold ribbons and patriotic ornaments. He sat down beside his female friend as she pulled the four packages out from underneath the conifer-- one was from Tony that Bruce had delivered to her for him. “I have no idea what that is, by the way,” Bruce said warningly as she shook Tony’s gift. “It could be a car bomb for all I know.”

Betty waved her hand dismissively, “Oh stop. I’m sure it’s something really thoughtful.” She quickly unwrapped the box, opening it to reveal a tee shirt depicting a partially incinerated astronaut landing on the sun. She giggled and shook her head. “Should’ve gone at night,” she cracked sarcastically, “Tell him I love it.”

She lifted it up briefly to eyeball the size, and both of them heard the muted _‘plink’_ of something small and plastic falling back into the box. As Betty held the shirt up to herself, Bruce leaned over to see what fell, readjusting the glasses on his nose for focus (he hadn’t, after all, equipped Tony’s ‘thoughtful’ gift to him). He couldn’t restrain a laugh as he picked up the $50 giftcard for Bath  & Body Works, remembering his friend’s advice about the particular store. “I think this means he thinks you could smell better.”

Betty smacked his arm lightly, “You’d _better_ be joking.”

“I said _he_ thought you could smell better, not _I_ thought you could smell better,” Bruce clarified with amusement. He pushed the book-shaped present closer to her.

“Well you had _both_ better be joking,” she corrected with a scoff as she accepted the gift. “No wonder neither of you have a girlfriend...” she muttered as she started to unwrap it. Bruce just chuckled and rubbed at the back of his neck; he held his breath as she peeled the paper away on the DK Eyewitness Book about the Universe.

“Recognize it?” he ventured.

A grin of realization spread across her face for a fraction of a second before she subdued it, “Not ringing a bell...” She flipped to a random page and placed the book in Bruce’s hands, who looked suitably confused before she came around to kneel behind him, “Maybe from this angle... Oh, there we go.”

It dawned on him exactly what the girl was doing and a large smile appeared on Bruce’s face. “Hey,” he leaned away from her grasping reach, repeating his words from Kindergarten, “I’m not done.”

“Gosh, you were brooding at a fifth grade level back then,” Betty teased, hugging him from behind, “You’re too sweet, really. Thank you.”

He chuckled a little bashfully, leaning back into her quick embrace. Yeah, okay, that stirred an old butterfly or two in his stomach. “You haven’t even gotten to the others,” he said, handing the bluray-shaped gift over his shoulder.

“You’re spoiling me; stop it,” she teased.

Bruce lifted an eyebrow at her. “I never heard you complain when your dad did it,” he joked at the way the man so often spoiled her.

“That’s completely different,” Betty stated mock-defensively, but didn’t elaborate.

“Tony helped me out with that one,” Bruce stated, inclining his head at the present his friend was currently unwrapping.

“Well tell him thank you if you see him before I do...” Betty laughed at herself for even implying she might see Tony again before Bruce did. Once the gift was unwrapped her eyes widened, “Oh my God... you do realize I’m now requiring us to all watch this together, right?”

“I’m sure Tony would be happy to lend us his 60” flatscreen,” Bruce chuckled, glad she’d liked it as much as the two of them guessed, and that it gave them all another good excuse to get together.

“He can ‘suffer through it’ on the 32 inch with the rest of us peasant folk,” Betty rolled her eyes, “Besides, since Daddy thinks the two of you are dating, you both get a free pass into the house.”

Bruce shook his head with another chuckle. “I’m imagining what a surprise it would be to your dad if after all these years it turned out you were lesbian and Leonard was just your beard.”

“Oh God,” Betty’s face paled, “He wouldn’t trust _anyone_ then. He’d have to lock me up in a tower.”

“Don’t worry, Tony would come up with some elaborate plan to get you down,” Bruce reassured smirkingly. He placed the smallest present in her hands, “Second to last gift,” he said.

The girl took a brief moment to look at him quizzically because as far as she knew, this _was_ the last gift, unless Bruce was hiding one in a pocket or something. She smiled and nodded, removing the wrapping from the unadorned little white box before lifting the lid off. What lay inside were six copper bracelets, each clasped to a spherical celestial body about an inch in diameter-- they depicted the moon, Mars, Jupiter, Neptune, Mercury, and Venus. Bruce watched Betty’s blue eyes glitter as she removed them to get a closer look, flitting back and forth between them as if trying to pick her favorite, but she was simply unable to. “Bruuuce...!” she crooned, admittedly a little speechless, “Oh my God. These are beautiful! Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” he grinned, pleased by her reaction. “I’m glad you like them.”

“I do. And they match the shirt Tony got me.”

“I guess they do,” Bruce agreed, watching her continue to admire them for a good while.

Her eyes snapped up then. “So what did you mean ‘second-to-last’ gift?”

The boy chuckled and took a moment to glance to his left and right, confirming that Betty’s father wasn’t in line of sight for what he was about to do. “Well...” he started, as if pondering it; he leaned in towards her. Then he slid his hand around the back of her head, grasping the nape of her neck and drew her into a short but sweet kiss. It was over almost as soon as it had started, save for one lingering breath between them.

Betty put a hand to her lips briefly, allowing herself a moment to formulate a response, “Okay, I guess we’re... even now?”

Bruce could barely keep the shit-eating grin off his face, feeling he’d successfully stolen a page from Tony Stark’s book. “Yeah, I just finally wanted to give it back to you.”

“I’m hoping that’s _all_ you wanted...” Betty said, blushing deeper, “Don’t take this the wrong way but, well, Tony’s a really lucky guy.”

“And he knows it,” Bruce said, a residual grin still present on his features.

“Did he get one of those for Christmas too?” she teased.

“Oh, he’s getting more than _that_ for Christmas,” he chuckled. Speaking of, he wondered how Pepper and Tony were doing right about now...

“Oh wow...” Betty giggled. It took all her willpower not to pry. She could always ask Tony next time she saw him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betty's gifts:  
> Tee Shirt - http://shirt.woot.com/offers/i-claim-this-sun-for-gyaahhhh  
> DK Universe Book - http://www.amazon.com/Universe-Eyewitness-Books-Robin-Kerrod/dp/0756650305/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1357971780&sr=1-1&keywords=dk+universe  
> Bracelets - http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_me9qql96TE1qas1mto2_1280.jpg


	27. Chapter 27

The orange pennant of Pepper’s hair bounced from side to side as she all but skipped she and Tony up to the shoe booth-- though she had a pair of ice skates, Tony had long since outgrown the pair he used to have when they were thirteen.

“Size?” mumbled out the less-than-enthusiastic clerk wearing a Santa hat behind the counter.

“Ten and a half,” Tony reported, drumming his fingers on the counter to a beat.  Pepper smiled, squeezing the hand that was holding hers and swinging their arms back and forth excitedly.  This place brought back sooo many memories... out on the ice together, racing back and forth across the rink to see who could touch the other wall first, or seeing who could do more spins before they got dizzy and fell over... it had been that awkward phase in their relationship when they’d gradually gone from being childhood friends to childhood boy/girlfriend.  They started trying to outdo one another less and started holding hands or just skating side-by-side instead.  It was really cute how awkward they’d been, looking back on it now.  She leaned against him, still reminiscing.

Sighing, the employee turned to find the specified pair, pulling them off the shelf and liberally spraying the insides with disinfectant before sliding them across the counter to the boy.  “Thanks a million.  Oh, and one more thing,” Tony said as he accepted the skates.  He placed them down next to him, plucked a twenty from his wallet and slapped it down onto the counter, “Find a happy thought.  Who knows; maybe if you think hard enough you’ll float away...!”

The staff member gawked.  “Merry Christmas!” Tony announced, waving his hand above his head as the two of them turned to go.

“Tony, did you just _tip_ the shoe booth boy?” Pepper asked incredulously as they found a bench to sit and switch their footgear.  She didn’t know if it was genuine generosity or if her ex was just flashing his cash around.

“He was a bit of a sad sack, yeah, but it’s Christmas.  Who the Hell wants to work on Christmas?  He’s missing out.”

“Could be Jewish,” the girl theorized as she undid the laces of her sneakers, giving the boy a hard time.  “He might not be missing anything.”

“He was wearing a Santa hat, Pepper,” Tony delivered straight-faced as he kicked off his shoes gracelessly, “I’m pretty sure he’s not.”

“Well then, it’s probably regulation,” she contested.  Was this becoming a playful argument?  Oh my gosh, she was pretty sure it was and she _so_ was not backing down!  She had a giddy internal moment.  “The snack bar chick is wearing an identical one, see?” Pepper pointed.

“Then they’re violating both their religious rights!  That’s unconstitutional!” Tony raised his voice in mock-offense.

The redhead rolled her eyes.  “They more than likely signed them away when they took the job.  That’s why you always read the fine print on the employment agreement, Tony.  You don’t want to accidentally sign your fortune away.”

Tony just grinned.  “Have I ever told you you’d make an awesome secretary?  I’d hire you.  Seriously; that’s no joke.”  He handed her his sneakers.

Pepper rolled her eyes again, but this time it was clear his charm had won her over from the wide grin stretching her lips.  “I’m sure our affair would be the talk of the office.”  She bent down to kiss him on the forehead before taking both his and her shoes over to the mini-lockers in her sock-feet.  Digging a couple quarters out of the conjoined pocket of her WHS sweatshirt, she chose one of the little compartments and stuffed their shoes away where they’d be safe for the duration of their stay.

Tony watched her go from the bench, eyes drawn (rather helplessly) to his ex’s long legs.  Only Pepper would decide to go out on a winter’s day to the _ice_ rink in a mini skirt and hoodie.  The damn thing barely covered her ass when she bent over.  He shifted in his seat and glanced away... though only temporarily.  Happy would have loved the view.  Jesus, where was Happy anyway?  Tony wondered if Pepper had even seen him _once_ during winter break.  It really ought to be _him_ here in Tony's place, shouldn’t it?  Then again, why should he care?  It was his good fortune that Pepper was back into him.   _And_ that Bruce was cool with it.  That was just beyond lucky.  Honestly, wasn’t that what every man wanted?  Two lovers to mess around with?  Tony shook his head forcibly.

“Hey, you haven’t even put your skates on,” Pepper laughed as she sat back down beside him.  “Still daydreaming about that ‘office affair’?”

Tony shook his head to clear his thoughts, “I don’t need to daydream.”

Pepper couldn’t help it, she let out a giggle of delight at the compliment, nuzzling against her ex’s shoulder briefly.  “Well c’mon and hurry, let’s get out on that ice before it all melts!” she joked, folding over to push her feet into her skates and lace them with quick efficiency.

Tony grinned and shook his head, pushing to stand and follow as quickly as he could.  He swallowed nervously as he drew nearer to the rink entrance.  It had been a while since he’d gone out and done this... four years, to be exact.  He had to have been at least a foot shorter the last time he’d put on a pair of ice skates.  He’d all but forgotten how by now, but there was no way in Hell he was going to tell Pepper-- he didn’t want to give her any reason to assume he wasn’t interested.

The large domed atrium was noticeably cooler than the front room; Pepper felt goosebumps prickle up on her exposed skin in immediate reaction to the climate change, but it spurred her out into the rink to get her muscles moving.  She propelled herself forward with two quick pumps of both legs, before performing a quick 180° spin, her momentum carrying her backward as she grinned back at Tony, who was still holding leerily onto the outer edge of the rink.  “Aren’t you going to chase after me?” she asked, amused he seemed so hesitant.  Had he forgotten how to ice skate?  That had to be embarrassing; her lips curled wickedly.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” Tony called back over the din of children and couples whooshing by.  Damn them and their stupid grace.

“Okay,” Pepper laughed, transitioning into the crowd that was skating clockwise around the oblong rink.  She went around once and noticed he hadn’t gotten very far.  “I thought you said you were coming!” she turned to her head to say as she glided by.

“I’m--” Tony put one foot down on the ice and nearly upended himself before regaining his balance, “I’m just giving you a head start!”

“Tony, there’s no such thing as a ‘head start’ on a _round_ track,” the girl responded as she looped around a second time.  She slowed to a stop just a few feet in front of him, then extended her hands out as if encouraging a toddler to make his first steps.  “Come on, Tony; you’re not going to fall and make yourself look like an idiot in front of dozens of people,” she goaded with a too-sweet smile.

“I’m fine,” Tony glared.  He warily let go of the rail and shuffled lamely to meet her.  His legs wobbled like a newborn colt the whole way, arms extended in a desperate attempt to keep him balanced.

Pepper took his grasping hands and began to skate backwards, pulling him along, gradually increasing their speed.  “Is it coming back to you yet?  It’s easier the faster you go.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” he reiterated with a pout, but he didn’t let go of her hands.  “I’ve been fine this whole time,” he added, squeezing her hands gently, “See?  I caught you.”

“No, you didn’t,” the girl laughed, “If you did, it’s because I _let_ you catch me.  Though if you can catch me once, I suppose you _could_ catch me again, right?”  Pepper released his hands and took two strong, swift strokes ahead of him.

Squaring his jaw, Tony pushed himself forward skating after her, his strides slightly more stable.  He reached out to tag her, but just like that his ex was out of reach, leaving him with nothing to slow his forward momentum.  God, how did you turn on ice skates again?  Tony leaned backwards on reflex, and that was when he felt the ground come up from under him in an instant; he didn’t even have a chance to yelp before landing roughly on his rear end.

“Ah, Jesus Christ!” he shouted as a mother and child glided by slowly, the mother narrowing her eyes in his direction.  “ _That’s_ whose birthday it is.  Dang, that was bothering me all day,” he amended, rubbing his tailbone and smiling sweetly until she turned around.  “Kiss my frozen ass, lady...” he grumbled quietly at her retreating back.

Pepper cut her circuit short, arcing back around to help pick her old boyfriend up from the ice.  “I guess I shouldn’t have let go of you...” she said, teasing softly, though she was speaking of more than just holding his hands.  “You okay?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve fallen,” Tony reassured her, and he must have said the wrong thing, or the right thing in the wrong place and time, because Pepper’s green eyes twinkled and she leaned in to peck him on the lips.  He got the impression she had misinterpreted that statement.

“You can ‘fall’ for me anytime,” she delivered upon pulling away, winding the fingers of her left hand into his right to pull him along again.  She wasn’t supposed to be flirting like this, she knew, but being back here with Tony and now that they were older... she just couldn’t help it.  Even if they’d only started up again just to have sex, she could feel her old emotions for the boy gradually coming back more and more each day.  It really was like falling.

Tony paled slightly.  If he wasn’t careful, this could turn serious.  Weren’t they supposed to just be fooling around?  Having some fun until Happy got off that marriage kick and Pepper came running back to him with open arms?  Wasn’t the whole point of this supposed to be avoiding the serious and focusing on the simple and fun?  Did Tony even really believe that in the first place, or was it just easier to have someone around to fall back on when-- _if_ this thing with Bruce didn’t work out?

“Pepper,” Tony blinked, staring back at her in faux shock, in order to mask his purposeful misunderstanding, “We can’t do it here on the ice.”

The redhead snorted a laugh.  She kept her voice down so the other patrons wouldn’t hear, “Oh my gosh, you and sex.  You’ll get that later!”

“I just heard the ‘S’ word!” a voice announced behind them.  Both Tony and Pepper looked back to see Clint Barton gliding along a close distance behind them like a shadow.

Pepper groaned, “I thought it was just his eyesight that was good.” 

“We should be so lucky...” Tony grumbled back.

The boy elected to ignore what the two had just said about him and performed a perfect pirouette to turn to his skate mate (seriously, no guy should have been _that_ graceful on ice-- Barton was scary), “Hey Nat, can _I_ get sex later?'”

“You know, sometimes I think you just might be the sweetest guy I’ve ever met...” Natasha cooed.  Clint, taking it as an invitation, leaned in for a kiss only to be stopped by an open palm holding his head at a platonic distance, “And _then_ you open that mouth.”

“Totally getting laid,” Clint whispered to Pepper and Tony, who were trying to ignore the antics of their schoolmates.  “But Tony Stark and Pepper Potts dating...” he gave a whistle, “that brings me back to, what?  Grade school?”  He smirked.

“We--” Tony started to refute the claim, then stopped.  He was screwed no matter what he said now, especially in front of Pepper.

“--aren’t dating,” Pepper finished the statement for him.

“Uh... huh,” Natasha drew out disbelievingly, “Because two people who ‘aren’t dating’ are talking about having sex and holding hands while ice skating together on one of the most romantic days of the year.”

Pepper and Tony simultaneously dropped each others’ hand as if it were on fire.  “We’re doing it for old time’s sake,” Pepper explained.

“Which, the skating or the sex?” Clint butt in.

“Neither!” Tony spouted reflexively, “I mean... Urgh!  Shut up, Barton!”

Natasha shook her scarlet head.  “But seriously.  When did this happen?”

Clint snorted a laugh.  “Obviously while Happy’s back was turned.”

Tony felt a chill run up his spine.  Had Barton really just said that?

Pepper turned the blades of her skates sideways to stop dead in her tracks; she jammed a finger into Clint’s face angrily.  “For your information, I was _completely_ faithful to Happy.  But he wouldn’t give me any breathing room-- I always felt so smothered-- he just...” her voice cracked a bit at what she’d just revealed and she swiveled to skate away from the other three teens.

“I’m gonna go take care of that,” Tony sighed, eyes following Pepper’s form, then coming back to glare at Clint, “ _Don’t_ follow me if you know what’s good for you.”  And with that he turned heel and shakily skated after her.

“Hey, I’m sorry I upset your girl!” Barton called after him.

Natasha’s leg swung out to send Clint spilling onto the ice.  Her fingers clamped onto the boy’s earlobe and twisted, “Try checking your facts before blurting things out at random.  They had a _very_ public falling out.  Where the Hell have you been?”

“Ow ow ow!” the sharp-eyed boy exclaimed as he got back to his feet, wincing and hopping from one ice skate to the other with each tug she made.  “Careful-- that’s sensitive equipment!”

“I know of some even more sensitive equipment that I won’t hesitate to put my boot in if you don’t watch it,” Natasha threatened.  She sighed and released his ear, “I can’t take you _anywhere_.”

“No, it’s that the places we go can’t take _me_.  Big difference, Nat.  The school _could’ve_ built those air-vents smaller, but they didn’t.”

Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose.  It was times like this she was reminded how much this troublemaking boy exhausted her, infuriated her, and inevitably _excited_ her.  Her lip quirked upwards ever so slightly, “You know what, if you promise not to pull another one of _those_ ,” she tilted her head back in Pepper’s direction, playful gaze locked on his, “I _might_ be able to think of a place I could take you.”

\--

“Pepper!” Tony called out, closing the distance between them gradually.  The girl was skating fairly quickly and aggressively to try and stay ahead of him.  Eventually, however, he caught her for real this time.

The two of them slowed to a stop, pausing against the rail.  Tony put an arm around Pepper’s shoulders, “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she lied, blinking back moisture in her eyes as she folded her arms on her chest and tried to look irritated that he was asking.

“Pep...” Tony’s eyebrows drew together in concern as he rubbed small circles into her back, “Clint’s... not the most sensitive...”  He fumbled for a way to continue, grunting in frustration at turning up lemons, “Okay, so Clint is a huge prick sometimes.  Just don’t take him seriously.”

“I know, but...” the girl bit her bottom lip.  “I’m not upset about that.  The school can think what they like.”  She hugged at herself and tried to relax into her ex’s gentle touch.  “‘Fuck reputations,’ right?” she quoted Tony’s own words with a half-hearted smile before her face fell again.

“Right.  But then, what’s...” Tony started, confused.

“Ugh...” Pepper wiped at the underside of her nose with her sleeve; she couldn’t believe she was letting herself get so upset over what had just happened.  But the truth was that her current situation with Happy had been eating at her.  So it wasn’t hardly a surprise she’d accidentally let slip some private information when Clint accused her of cheating.  She’d done really well keeping her feelings to herself and not telling anyone the entirety of winter break, but she didn’t want to anymore.  She just wanted someone to listen and understand _her_ perspective, to tell her she hadn’t been wrong to tell Happy no and that she needed a break.  But God... why, oh why, was she falling back in love with Tony again?  She couldn’t do this to herself!

Pepper sighed and looked at her ex.  “For just _one_ day I didn’t want to think about him.  I just wanted today to be about you and I.”

_Now_ he knew who she was really upset about.  Tony nodded his understanding, biting his lip when her words brought another troubling thought to mind, “You’re not... I mean... this isn’t _my_ fault, right?”

“Happy and I’s break-up?  God, no,” she shook her head.  Tony was just the escape from her nearly-fiance.  Or at least, that had been her initial plan.  Now that things felt like they were warming up between them again... Pepper forced her thoughts back to her explanation.  “He...  Tony, he won’t leave me alone.  I’ve tried telling him to stop, I’ve tried ignoring him...  He just keeps texting me or leaving voice messages in my inbox.”  She was about ready to get a new phone number and move to the next county.

“Does he know?” Tony asked, an ‘about us’ implicit.

“Of course not.”  Pepper gave a hard exhale through her nose.  Well that sounded deceptive and awful.  She tried to explain.  “I don’t want to hurt him.  I just want him to realize I’m an independent person.  We don’t _have_ to do _everything_ together; he doesn’t _have_ to know where I am _every_ minute of _every_ day.  I have a _life_ beyond him you know.  How hard is that to understand?” she stressed the words with frustration.  “I thought it was cute back when we were first dating... the way he followed me around and attended to me; I used to joke he was my ‘bodyguard’.”  Her eyes rolled despite the smile that fleetingly graced her lips at that memory.  “But it just got to be too much...”

“Maybe...” Tony exhaled through his nose slowly, “Maybe he thinks he fucked up and lost you for good, and that’s why he won’t stop texting.”  Tony scratched the back of his neck nervously.  “I mean, look at you.  You could get any guy you wanted.  I’m kind of the case and point there.”

Pepper shook her head, though she was flattered Tony really thought that.  “I just have this feeling that he thinks he _owns_ me.  And when he tried to put that ring on my finger, I... well, it just made it more obvious.  And the more he pushes to get us back together, the more it pushes me away from him...”

“Pepper...” Tony interrupted, treading carefully, “Do you think you’re ever going to get back together?”

She sighed.  “I don’t know.  Maybe if he changes, but...” Pepper shook her head again, lips pursing in ultimatum.  “Happy made me happy for awhile.”  She met eyes with the boy in front of her.  “But right now someone else is making me happy.  And it’s you.”

_‘And Happy gets to be miserable just so we can enjoy a sane, simple, guilt-less, sex-rich life.  Yeah,_ that’ll _help me sleep at night.’_  But goddamn... was she serious?  That she might not be getting back together with Happy?  Did this really mean she was technically... single... again?  He gulped.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to dump all this off on you,” Pepper apologized.  “God, I can’t imagine what an over-dramatic bitch I sound like right now.”  She wiped her eyes on the cuffs of her hoodie again and composed herself with a couple deep breaths.  The girl laughed softly at herself.  “Thanks for listening,” she said, leaning in to kiss her ex on the tip of the nose.

“Always,” Tony smiled back; he was doubtful that listening had really helped much of anything, but if she was happy that was what mattered.  He gave a moment’s pause at that line of thought, evaluating how oddly... selfless it sounded.  But of course he wanted her to be happy, they were here for her after all.  He cleared his throat, “You wanna keep skating, or...?”

“Are you kidding?  I’m not going to let one little thing ruin our whole day,” Pepper said, her spunk returning as she set her sights on the other side of the rink.  “Race you to the other side!” she announced, pushing off the railing.

“Hey, no fair!  You got a head start!” Tony shouted as he spring-boarded off the wall to race after her.

Pepper turned her head to call back, “Isn’t that what you were giving me earlier?”  She giggled to herself, but slowed just enough so that Tony could begin to catch back up-- after all, there wasn’t any fun in winning a race by a mile.

The teenage boy pistoned his legs, mind no longer on accidentally falling or losing his balance, just on getting to that other side as _fast_ as possible.  He could see he was closing distance on Pepper and it made him grin triumphantly and push faster.  Pepper had actually been _taller_ than him back in 8th grade (girls always grew faster than boys, but stopped growing sooner), and she’d win, hands-down, almost every time.  But not this time, he thought, as her ponytail bobbed just a few feet ahead of him like a carrot on a stick.  This time he had it licked.  In the bag.  Victory was his.  He skated past her, the wall looming dead-ahead.

And then she began to pull ahead of him again.

Grasping wildly, he shot out his hand and managed to catch a hold of the hood of her sweatshirt.  Only after he had done it did he realize what a bad idea it likely was, as it yanked her back and yanked him forward.  But by some miracle of God, their skates didn’t cross or become entangled, and the both of them crashed into the barrier with their palms out to stop their momentum with a hard double _thunk! thunk!_

“Oh God...” Tony panted, “Are you o...okay?  That was-- I’m so sorry...”

“I’m fine!” Pepper was giggling between pants, keeping herself steady by holding onto the rail.  “You’re such a cheater!  Oh my gosh!”  She reached out and gave him a slap on the wrist.

Relieved she wasn’t hurt, a grin spread across his face.  “No, I think that was a completely legitimate tie,” he contested.

“It so wasn’t!” she laughed breathlessly.

“Well I could go fetch Clint. Then we could race again, and he could judge,” Tony suggested.  Clint and Natasha weren’t anywhere to be seen at the moment, but any Westmore student knew that visibility and presence didn’t always go hand-in-hand when it came to those two.  Even in all their years dating on and off ( _very_ publicly, one might add), they’d never once received disciplinary action for PDA, and _that_ was saying something.  Honestly, Tony wouldn’t have minded learning their secret.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Pepper turned down the offer sarcastically.  “That was fun though.  Even if you _did_ try to kill us both,” she teased, smiling at him.

Tony chuckled a bit sheepishly as they began to skate absently once more.  “Hey, you wanna go get some coffee after this or something?”

“I hope you mean for me and not you,” she laughed a bit, keeping her ex’s condition in mind.

“I was leaning more towards hot chocolate, but that doesn’t sound nearly cliche enough, so...”

Pepper nibbled her lower lip flirtatiously and took a gamble.  “Well, I’d let you take me to dinner...”

Like _dinner_ dinner?  Not hey-let’s-go-grab-a-hamburger dinner but I-want-to-stare-across-the-table-into-your-candlelit-eyes dinner??  Tony flinched for half a second before putting on a smirk.  “My victory dinner?” he tried.

“If you associate victory and picking up the check, then yes,” the redhead challenged back.

“I don’t consider buying dinner a victory any more than I consider blinking a victory,” Tony waved dismissively, before his eyes narrowed mischievously, “However... I still might be interested in claiming the potential _spoils_ of said victory...”

“I’m sure you would,” Pepper spoke as she slid along across the ice.  “So then, where are you taking me?” she inquired, implying that the spoils would be greater the bigger the check.

This game he knew how to play.  He’d be sliding all his chips onto the table for this one.  Tony stuffed his hands into his pockets smugly.  “Well, I hear there’s this great French joint not too far from here...”

Pepper’s eyes widened.  “Le Petit Papillon?  Really?”  Her heart pittered in her chest excitedly and she did a little 360° spin on the ice before catching herself.  “But wait... don’t they only do reservations?”

“Don’t worry about it; it’s all taken care of...” Tony delivered smoothly.

\--

Pepper bit her lip as Tony held open the door to Le Petit Papillon, giving him a quick peck on the cheek as she scurried inside.  The two of them looked distinctly out of place in the high-scale French restaurant-- everyone was in evening gowns or three-piece suits compared to their sweatshirts, sneakers, and in Tony’s case, jeans.  Not to mention they were ten to thirty years younger than everyone else currently inside.  It was hard _not_ to stand out.  It felt like all eyes were on them and Pepper felt her grip tighten on her ex’s hand.

They found some place to stand and wait in the lobby; Pepper shifted back and forth on her feet, antsy.  She reached back to pull off the scrunchie that had been holding her hair in a ponytail, allowing it to drape down over her shoulders so she’d look a little less like a pubescent girl.  After a few moments of nervous waiting, she leaned over to speak into Tony’s ear.  “So... what was your plan again?”

Tony shushed her as the maitre d’ called out, “Peterson, party of four?”

He looked down at the podium and repeated himself once more before a man who had been conversing with his wife and another couple raised his hand, “Right here.”

The host nodded, collecting a grouping of menus, “Right this way.”  And escorted the quartet to their seats.

Tony turned to face Pepper, making a point to appear completely immersed in playing with his phone, “Now I need you to be with me on this a hundred percent.  Don’t say anything; just smile, nod and follow me when I get up.”

Pepper was pretty sure she knew what it was Tony intended to do, and she couldn’t say she’d ordinarily condone it, but this was Le Petit Papillon, on Christmas day, with her old flame.  “Alright,” she agreed, slipping her arm around him and hoping for the best.

“Just trust me.  Dad used to do this all the time.  It’s practically foolproof.”

Pepper nodded, chewing at her lip.  Something told her this wasn’t the greatest of ideas, but it was their only shot.  She couldn’t help but think that if it was Happy who she had her arm around right now, that a reservation would have been made weeks ahead of time and the both of them would be dressed formally like the rest of the crowd, waiting patiently to hear their names ‘Mr. Hogan and Ms. Potts’ announced from the podium.  Like a _respectable_ couple.

_‘Or Mr. and_ Mrs. _Hogan...’_ she reminded herself with dread; she shook her head clear of the troublesome thoughts.

A short amount of time had passed, and a few more names had been called before a host once again stepped out into the waiting area, “Monroe, party of two.”

Tony’s eyes lit up just a little as the host continued to call the name to no responses, but waited with bated breath until they’d moved on to the next name.  This was it.  Standing up, he motioned for Pepper to follow, who, as told, performed a smile and nod and hooked her arm into his.

“Taylor, party of...”

“Monroe, party of two,” Tony cut the man off, stepping forward, “Sorry I didn’t catch you earlier.”  He motioned his phone.  “Important emails.  You know.”

The server looked less than convinced, training his eyes up and down the duo.  Tony had told her not to speak, but if she didn’t do something, the man was liable to ask Tony for some I.D.  Pepper interjected before he could question it, giving her ex a backhanded smack on the arm.  “I told you they called us!” she played the part, pretending to vent her frustration to the maitre d’, “I swear, he’s always fiddling with that phone of his.  What does a girl have to do to get her date’s attention these days?”  She pushed her hair back over a shoulder and gave a huff.

“Hoping that’s rhetorical,” Tony smirked as he flitted through several screens on his phone yet again, pretending to only be paying the scene half of his attention.

The host cleared his throat, choosing not to get between the arguing couple.  “Your table’s this way,” he said, leading them on through the rows of tables.

Pepper forced herself not to bounce giddily.  “You better not stare at that thing all evening,” she said sternly.

“Of course not.  I gotta eat sometime.”  Tony hid his smile as best as he could.

“It’s like you don’t even care that I’m here; I can’t believe you,” Pepper said with faux-exasperation as she pulled out her own chair to sit down.  The man handed them their menus, told them their server would be along momentarily, and hastened to get away from their bickering.

“I know,” Tony grinned, following suit, “I amaze myself too sometimes.”

“What I really can’t believe is how well that worked,” Pepper giggled, fingers tightening around her menu.  “Though you really look nothing like a Monroe.”  Now that they were settled and it looked like they weren’t going to be tossed on their ears, she allowed herself to soak in the ambiance around them.  The floors were a polished oak wood, with long ornate carpet runners along the walkways.  Lavish velvet draperies hung to either side of dutch-style windows.  Chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, bathing the dining area in a warm yellow glow.  There were also candles and vases with poinsettias and holly berries placed at every table in a festive fashion.  Pepper unfurled her cloth napkin to place it on her lap; the silverware appeared to be made of real silver.  “My gosh, this place is even more breathtaking than I imagined it!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah, it’s pretty swanky,” Tony agreed, browsing through through the wine selection thoughtfully-- if he remembered correctly, his ex preferred white to red.  “Hey Pep,” he got her attention; she glanced up over her bill of fare at him, “you still have that phoney I.D. I got you a couple years back?”

The redhead laughed, rolling her eyes-- she’d been absolutely appalled when he first gave it to her and threatened to put it through the shredder, but it had turned out to be handy on more than one occasion since then.  “I hate to admit it... but yes.”

“Great,” Tony grinned.  The waiter brought by a baguette covered with cloth inside a wicker basket, setting it between them before removing a pad of paper from the apron around his waist.  “Anything to drink, monsieur, mademoiselle?”

“Uh...” Tony was glad he understood the first half of that sentence (of all the things he had a ‘genius-level’ understanding of, foreign languages was not one of them).  “Yeah, we’ll have a couple glasses of your...” he glanced quickly back down at the list-- “chenin blanc?”  He was pretty sure he hadn’t botched the pronunciation there-- if he did, the server didn’t acknowledge it.

“Oui,” the man wrote it down and Tony and Pepper both had to restrain their laughter.  “Tout de suite,” he turned on his heel and went off, leaving the two of them alone again.

Pepper set her menu down, flipping absently as she leaned an elbow on the table to hold up her head.  “So what do you think you’re going to have?” she queried.  Everything looked good to her... sautéed pork tenderloin medallions with an orange sauce... grilled chicken breast with honey mustard glaze... braised portobello mushrooms, topped with mashed potatoes and gruyere cheese.  She felt her tongue start to tingle and mouth water.

“I’ll let you know right after I take a semester in French...” Tony joked.  His ears picked up on the sound of some arguing coming from the front of the restaurant, eyebrow tweaking upward.  He elected to ignore it, however, and took a slice of bread from the baguette.  He bit off a large hunk.  “What about you?” he asked through a full mouth.

Pepper found herself giggling again.  “Tony...” she started to scold playfully, when suddenly a loud clearing of the throat sounded beside them.  “Oh...” she went quiet.  The maitre d’ and two very vexed looking customers were standing in the aisle glowering down at them.

Tony swallowed the remainder of the bread in his mouth that hadn’t been chewed enough yet with a painful gulp.  “Uhh... heyyy... what can we do for you guys?  Guys and gal,” he corrected, trying his best sheepish smile.   _‘Shit.  Busted.’_

“Mr. and Mrs. Monroe would like _their_ table,” the maitre d’ said crossly.

“What a coincidence!” Tony hopped up from his chair, “We were just uhh... sampling the bread to make sure it was to your liking.  We’re bread-samplers.  Make sure it’s not too crunchy, not too soft.  Oh!  And not poisoned.  You know how many baguette-related injuries get reported this time of year...?”  Neither the mister or misses looked very amused.

“Out!” the maitre d’ shouted, pointing his arm.  Pepper and Tony scurried towards the entrance, the man right on their heels; the whole restaurant stared and whispered among themselves as the two teenagers were ousted from the establishment.

Tony winced as the doors closed definitively behind them.  He glanced over at his ex as they wandered back towards his ‘stang.  “Sorry, Pep...” he apologized, knowing how much she’d been looking forward to that dining experience.  “We can try going somewhere else...”  Though _where_ what with it being Christmas he didn’t know since almost any place was bound to be full up or require reservations, and he wasn’t about to risk failing the same stunt twice.

“Oh, whatever, it’s fine,” the girl waved dismissively, “those stuffy old people can shove the baguettes up their assholes.  Remind me to never get old.”

The teenage boy’s face cracked into a wide grin at the amusing imagery involved with that.  “You’ll always be young in my eyes, Pep.”

“Stop that.”  The girl gave him a little light shove, almost blushing.  Pepper paused and smiled, “Burger King?”

Tony lit up at the mention of his favorite burger joint.  He looped his arm around Pepper’s waist and pulled her snug against his side.  “You’re fantastic.  I ever mention that?”

Her green eyes rolled, smiling adoringly.  “Oh, every once and awhile, but not nearly enough.”

“Hm... I’ll have to see about doing it more often then, because I wouldn’t want you to forget it.”  He put on a glittering grin and quickly found her mouth on his.

\--

Two double Whoppers and milkshakes in hand, Tony and Pepper stepped away from the order-up counter.  The redhead got on her tippy-toes to scout out a place to sit when Tony nudged her with his elbow.  “Hey, c’mon,” he inclined his head twice.

“Hm?”  Somewhat confused, she followed her ex as he made for the exit.  “Tony, where are we going?” she asked as he hurried along the sidewalk towards the back of the fast food restaurant.

“I wanna get a good seat,” he explained, knowing it did little to explain anything at the moment.  He spied the drop-down ladder welded to the side of the stucco building five or so feet above his head and stooped to set his drink and paper-wrapped burger on the curb.  “Here, I’ll give you a boost,” Tony twined the fingers of both his hands together, offering her a foot hold.

“Oh!” it clicked for the girl and she grinned, putting her meal down as well.  Pepper stuck her right foot into her ex’s joined hands and, with a heft, Tony lifted her high above his head.  The position wouldn’t last long (he was no cheerleader), but it didn’t matter, Pep had already grabbed ahold of the bottom-most rung and tugged it down into easy reach, leaping down from her ex’s shoulders.  “After you,” she motioned with a smirk.

“After me??” Tony looked askance, “A gentleman lets a lady go first.”  He followed that statement by waggling both eyebrows.

“Well this ‘lady’ doesn’t expect her gentleman not to take advantage of an upskirt opportunity,” Pepper needled, forcefully handing him his burger and shake (she was one of the few who could get away with ‘handing’ him things).

He tried to keep a straight face but his expression landed somewhere between a smirk and looking like he needed to sneeze.  Tony shoved the burger into his pocket and climbed the ladder with one hand, holding his drink in the other.  Pepper played the same trick and together they got up on the roof of the Burger King.  It wasn’t super high or anything, but it did give them a clear sight of the horizon over the tops of the rest of the buildings in town, which was all the more Tony had been aiming for.  The two of them found a place to sit and dangle their feet over the edge, unwrapping their meals from the packaging and digging in.

The sun dipped lower and lower until dusk began to color the wintery sky in dusky hues of pink and orange.  Pepper mused as she watched, scooting closer to her date.  It was funny... despite the mundane meal they were consuming, just being up here all alone together felt more romantic than sitting in the upscale restaurant had.  It was more... personal.  And a little more impulsive too.  Certainly more fitting of Tony.  Her face spread into a smirk.

By the time the last sliver of the sun had disappeared beneath the landscape, the two of them were wadding up their greasy paper wrappers.  Tony propped his tongue in the corner of his mouth and attempted to ‘make a basket’, aiming for the trashcan several feet below them.  It bounced off the rim and into the grass.

“My God, if I hear the city has passed another environmental law I’ll know who to blame,” Pepper commented wryly.

“That was just a practice shot,” Tony shrugged.  He nabbed her discarded wad and made a second attempt, but the wind grabbed it and landed it further afield than the first one.

“And what was that?” Pepper shot her ex a smug glance.

The side of Tony’s lip twitched.  “A failure to include meteorological factors into my trajectory equation.”

The girl gave him a shove, laughing, “It’s okay to admit you just messed up and need a third chance.”

He didn’t know what compelled him to say it.  “Second chance, isn’t it?”

Pepper blinked.  “I don’t... are you...?”  Was her ex implying what she thought he might be implying?  That he wanted a second chance with... her??

Tony backpedalled and fast.  “Sorry, yeah, no, miscount.  It was third, you’re right.  Next time I’ll aim more to the right.”

But the damage had already been done.  Pepper reached out and set her hand on top of his, locking gaze with him.  “Tony... I... I don’t think I can c--” she swallowed that ugly ‘commit’ word and started over as if to correct herself.  “I can’t be back together with you.  And... I didn’t even think _you_ were wanting anything long-term.”

Tony stared down into the parking lot below.  The thing was he _did_ want something long-term.  He wanted a second chance to prove he was date-able.

Just not really with Pepper.

He shrugged his shoulders.  “Well, it’d be dumb to rule anything out,” he said.

The girl seemed to take that for exactly what it was worth, going back to study the skyline.  “I should’ve ordered a warmer drink...” Pepper commented, suppressing a little shiver as she drew vanilla shake up through the straw, “I didn’t know we were coming up here.”

“Sorry.”  Tony chuckled, glancing quickly at her bare legs which were pockmarked with both freckles and now goosebumps.  “I’m... appreciating the view though.”

Pepper’s voice went dry.  “Of which now?  The sky or me?”

“It can be both, can’t it?” Tony asked, forcing himself not to smirk at her humor.  She laughed and he took it as a good sign.  He put his milkshake down and carefully placed his palm down on her nearest thigh and rubbed a little to get some friction going.

Pepper hummed at the warmth of her ex’s hand, shutting her eyes.  “That feels nice, Tony.”

“Yeah?” the teenage boy bit his lip, letting his hand wander higher and to the inside.  Okay, it was a grope, but it was a casual grope.  Bruce had said he expected he and Pep to have a good time, so what the heck, may as well start early.  Tony watched as the redhead’s chin tilted back with a little moan, and he had to bite his lower lip to keep from saying anything.  His fingers found the space between her legs, tracing down along the panty line.

Pepper looked like she didn’t want him to stop, but her eyes opened and her head leveled anyway.  “We should really save it for your place.”  She blinked, eyes lighting up the way they did when she remembered something important.  “Gosh, what time is it anyway?”

“Uh... a little after five?” Tony guessed.  He pulled out his phone to confirm the fact.

“We really ought to get back,” Pepper said then and Tony’s face twisted into confusion.  She interrupted before he could question why, “I mean, it _is_ cold up here now that the sun’s set.”

That still didn’t quite make sense, but Tony simply shrugged.  “Yeah, okay.”

Pepper leaned over and pecked her ex on the cheek again.  “Boy have I got a surprise for you...”


	28. Chapter 28

Howard Stark gave a snort, checking the straightness of his tie in the mirror for the last time. If there was one thing he didn’t think he’d ever fully adjust to, it would be work on Christmas. Of course, one might argue that attending a charity banquet wasn’t technically ‘working on Christmas’. Howard, in turn, would argue that he’d eaten airline food that was better fit to be served at a banquet than what he’d undoubtedly be subjected to tonight. The idea of suffering through that horrible excuse for a meal in a room full of one-dimensional personalities sure sounded like work to him, and for a moment he was seriously considering giving his speech via FaceTime and sending a check in the mail.

The older man sighed, defeated. Despite his hatred for the event, he wouldn’t skip out this year or any year. The first time he’d been invited to attend, back when Maria had still been alive, he had only just started making a name for himself. Most of the other attendees either ignored them or looked down on them, writing them off as ‘new money’ and undeserving of their time. It disgusted him to this day that so many people were more concerned with social statuses than the charity itself.

He remembered wanting to leave, actually feeling the twitch to stand up and grab his coat. That was when Maria had leaned over and told him how proud she was that he was willing to share what he’d worked so hard to gain. Her eyes had a spark to them, her lips a smile he still held fondly in his memories, and he decided that if it made her happy, he’d suffer that hyena pit gladly-- and so he did, year after year. And he would _continue_ to suffer it for her sake, no matter how pretentious the company or bland the cooking.

“Bruce better not have been kidding about those leftovers,” he muttered to his reflection.

Just outside, the aforementioned boy was removing his seatbelt and extracting himself from Betty’s tiny Beetle. In an almost deja vu-ish fashion, he leaned over to express his gratitude to his driver, “Thanks again for the ride. It was good to finally meet your boyfriend.”

“Yeah,” Betty smiled back, but found herself unable to resist the urge to tease, “It’s only fair, since I met yours at the bonfire.”

Bruce issued a soft chortle, shaking his head. “I’ll tell him you said hi. Have a good night; Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!” Betty echoed as she pulled away from the curb.

Bruce watched as her tail lights shrunk into the distance before turning to head up the driveway of the Stark Mansion. The lights, he noticed, were on, but they often times were. He fished around in his khaki pocket, locating the singleton house key he’d acquired from Pepper the day before. Handy that she’d had it, but he hadn’t questioned why. Chuckling to himself, he stepped up to the porch and let himself in.

Despite the lack of reminder, he removed his shoes and jacket at the door. As he was turning from the coat rack, a figure emerged from around the hall and nearly caused him to leap out of his skin. “Mr. Stark,” he gasped, trying to slow his heart.

“Bruce!” Howard’s eyes lit up with depravity, as if the universe had tuned into his thoughts and sent his son’s friend his way with a delicious, mouth-watering... armful of nothing. Howard frowned, tilting his head to examine the teenager like a peckish fowl searching the soil for a fat, juicy worm. Not a single bag or tupperware container on the young man’s person. It felt like someone had kicked Howard in the stomach with a steel-toed boot; his eyebrows drew together and he let out the closest to a juvenile whine his vocal chords could manage at his age, flopping backwards onto the couch dramatically, “Boy, you’re _killing_ me!”

“Why does that sound familiar...?” Bruce mumbled under his breath. Despite the childish display, he continued to address the older man with respect, “Sorry, Mr. Stark, I haven’t been back home yet. I was out all day visiting friends.” He noticed the man’s formal attire, a sharp contrast to the robe and pajamas he normally donned about this hour. “Are you going out somewhere, sir?”

Tony’s father responded flatly, “Well, I’m headed out for a charity banquet. On an empty stomach. I’ll tell you, I worry about the kind of decisions I might end up making.” He fiddled with his tie again out of habit-- it kept moving around; he wished he could find that tie pin Maria had given him years ago shaped like a Bohr atom. “And stop calling me ‘Sir’. I’d like to keep thinking I’m not that old yet, if you don’t mind.”

“I’m sorry, s--” Bruce caught himself with a soft cough and winced smile. “It’s a force of habit.” He scratched the back of his head and diverted to small talk, somewhat curious, “Uhh, what’s the charity for?”

“Forgiven,” Howard chuckled, shaking his head. “But really. It wouldn’t kill you to call me ‘Howard’,” he chided, before adding, “And this year we’re raising funds for the American Red Cross.”

“Oh, that’s really admirable of you,” Bruce commented. One thing he had to hand to both Tony and his father, the two of them were both almost endlessly generous with their wealth. The thought made him smile, hand slipping down to touch the iPod in his pocket. It was certainly an interesting dichotomy of ethics between his dad and Tony’s dad... the one man who’d willingly chosen a lesser-paying vocation than he _could_ have because it served ‘the people for the people’, but who as a result was dead-set on keeping every penny he _did_ earn to himself... and the other who was making millions hand-over-fist with the goal of ‘technological progress, emblazoned with the Stark logo’ in mind but who so selflessly gave to other organizations. Momentarily Bruce wondered where on the scale he himself would fit when the time came. He brought himself out of his deep thoughts, “Well, I hope you have a good evening. I’ll be sure to bring some of Mom’s leftovers by first thing tomorrow morning so you’ll at least have a solid breakfast.”

“You’re a damn good kid, Bruce.” Howard smiled warmly, “Keep it up and I might feel compelled to adopt you into the clan.”

Bruce chuckled. “I’ll let you know when my father disowns me,” he joked dryly, though he berated himself for thinking that way.

“Tony can forward the message if I’m not in town.” Howard stood and stretched, groaning as his muscles protested weakly. “If he’s not down there in the basement playing guitar and singing like the past month-and-a-half,” his mustache bristled.

Bruce’s eyes lit up. Nothing could make him forget the way his friend’s voice had danced along to the notes, weaving a harmony just for him. “He’s been singing?” he asked, trying to keep the envious tone out of the inquiry. Why hadn’t Tony expressed interest in going down to the basement to play the times he’d been over? When he could’ve _listened?_ ...Then again, Bruce recognized how often he’d been critical of Tony in the past-- that likely had a lot to do with it. He couldn’t very well expect Tony to share if the other boy assumed his sharing wouldn’t be valued.

“Yeah, being real sneaky about it too. I shot a compliment his way a month ago at dinner and he told me he had no idea what I was talking about. Then he spent the entire rest of the week trying to better soundproof the basement. Which is appreciated if he’s going to continue wailing away down there. I would ask if he’s doing dope, but...” Howard chuckled, “I grew up in pretty wild times. If it was dope, trust me, I’d know.”

Bruce cleared his throat again and didn’t add comment.

“So, I guess you’re keeping an eye on the house until Tony gets back.” It wasn’t a question, more of an implication of trust. He twirled the keyring for his Bentley and began walking in the direction of the garage, “Don’t let any strangers in.”

“Got it,” the teenager nodded, refraining from tacking a ‘Mr. Stark’ onto the end of the sentence. He waited for the older man to go before making himself at home on the couch in front of the television, selecting one of the tech magazines from the coffee table to browse through while he waited. About ten minutes later, he felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it out; the message was from Pepper. He read it quickly and responded before heading upstairs to Tony’s room.

\--

Pepper slid her phone back into her purse while Tony’s attention was on the four-way stop. They were only a few intersections away from his house and Bruce was waiting. She tried to keep the wide smirk from deforming her features, but it simply wasn’t any use... she was grinning practically ear-to-ear. Tony had no idea what was in store for him... and she couldn’t wait to see the expression on his normally smug face.

“What’re you smiling about?” Tony asked in a manner that implied he already knew.

“Oh, yooou’ll see...” Pepper sing-songed, forcing herself not to giggle. She pulled down the visor above her head and got out her pink lipstick to apply some touch-up with the reflection.

“Can’t wait...” Tony replied, smirking like a wolf. When he thought about it, really, this situation wasn’t so bad. He might not have the relationship he wanted, but maybe that was for the best. Things weren’t super-serious with Pepper, and neither were they with Bruce. It might’ve been his libido talking, but Tony decided he could afford to just lay back and enjoy the crazy ride for a while with both of them. As long as he didn’t have to think about how he felt about either of them, maybe he could come out of it relatively unscathed too.

Betty would probably be furious with him if he didn’t tell Bruce how he felt though. As intimidating a situation as telling his friend was, Tony still had to spill the beans at _some_ point, and he sure as Hell wasn’t looking forward to the case of nerves he’d be when he did it. Part of him toyed around with the thought that putting off the truth indefinitely wasn’t the same as lying, though he imagined that Betty would argue that him going missing wouldn’t technically be the same as him being murdered.

_‘Honesty it is then. ...Just not right now.’_

He clicked the garage door opener to bring it up so he could drive the ‘stang inside. As soon as he cut the engine, he found Pepper sliding across the bench seat to press their mouths together, her fingers tickling up the nape of his neck and drawing goosebumps up all over his skin. He tilted his head and ran his palm up her leg again; the girl nearly bumped the car horn with an elbow when she readjusted the way she was sitting. They made out for a good while before Tony drew back. “I’ll take that as an ‘you can’t wait either’...” he chuckled.

Pepper just grinned and grabbed him by the wrist, pushing the passenger door open with her foot and dragging him along behind her into the house-- not that he was making an effort to slow down where this was going.

The redhead abruptly dropped his hand. “I’m going to go change into something more... suitable,” she said, squeezing the strap on her purse-- whatever was in there couldn’t be too covering if it fit in there, Tony noted like a lick of his lips. “Meet you up in your room,” Pepper gave a wink and disappeared into the bathroom.

As soon as he heard the door latch snap, Tony bounded off to his room. He tore his sweatshirt off his head and tossed it, frantically pushing his way out of his jeans mid-run. He stopped at his door, clad in only his tee and silk boxers. Weird... he didn’t remember closing the door. Strangeness aside, he didn’t pay it much more than a quirk of the eyebrow, before pulling his shirt off and flinging it aside. He turned the knob and threw the door open, ready to dive onto the bed as if it were a swimming hole, but stopped in shock when he saw who was waiting for him on the other side.

Bruce Banner was sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing only his boxers and a button-up shirt, which, notably, the big guy had gone to the effort of undoing half the buttons for him.

“Bruce, what the fuck are you--” Tony caught himself mid-shout. He slapped both hands over his mouth. Oh God, if Pepper had heard that...

“Hey, Tony,” the other boy replied calmly. Bruce trained his eyes down and then back up his mostly naked friend, an eyebrow tweaking upward as a smile spread across his features.

Tony fought back the panic in his eyes and tried to look intimidating by wagging his finger at the other teenage boy sharply. “Don’t ‘Hey Tony’ me! What the Hell are you doing here?!” he demanded, but didn’t wait for the explanation, sweeping out both hands, “No, nevermind; there’s no time. You need to be out of here _yesterday_.”

Well, this was rather amusing, Bruce thought. Pepper obviously hadn’t told Tony he was going to be here; Bruce had to force back a grin-- he liked her style. The high schooler stood and walked over, but rather than exit out the door like the other had asked, he looped his arms around Tony’s waist, skimming his fingers up and down the teen’s bare back. “What if I don’t want to go?”

Tony gaped, trying to fight his instincts (the ones that were telling him to tackle the boy onto the bed and have his way with him as if Pepper _wasn’t_ downstairs changing into whatever little frilly piece of lingerie she had this time, which, by the way, he _had_ been looking forward to seeing, _and_ taking off, but the odds of that were dropping with every passing second that the big guy stayed here). What the Hell had gotten into his friend? Hadn’t he _told_ Bruce already what his plans for the evening were?

Tony cleared his throat, trying to limit his stammering, “Bruce, s-seriously. Tomorrow. I _promise_ we can fuck tomorrow. We can fuck _three_ times if you like. But I’ve got plans tonight. Very concrete-- oh God dammit! C-c-cut it out!” Tony tried to lean away from the teeth currently nipping at the flesh above his collarbone. But _God_ those little pinpricks on his erogenous zone felt good... his head tipped back before he shook it aggressively to snap back out of it. He pressed on Bruce’s shoulders-- damn him for having such nice, strong arms... Oookay, totally not helping. He needed to think one step at a time to get out of this mess. “Bruce, you need to put your pants back on before...” Tony’s eyes darted around the room in search of the article, “Where the Hell _are_ your pants?”

Bruce shrugged (for the record, he actually did know-- they were downstairs on the couch) and slipped his hands past the waistband of the other teen’s boxers, taking very full, firm handfuls of his friend’s ass.

Tony groaned helplessly, trying desperately to ignore his friend’s actions. Bruce couldn’t stay here any longer. He had to make him leave. Somehow. _‘I just have to buckle down and be firm--oh Jesus Christ, no!’_ Tony shook his head again, trying to banish the thought. Great. Now his mind was working against him. With reluctance, he swallowed his pride completely and prepared to beg, “Bruce, _please_. Pepper’s gonna be in here any second and you’re not supposed to be here--”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure he _is_ supposed to be here,” Pepper Potts appeared, leaning against the doorframe and folding her arms over her chest, the little white puffball on the end of her pink Santa hat bobbing as she did so.

The spectacled boy finally released his hold on his friend and grinned, going over to the bed to sit back down where he’d been when Tony barged in.

Tony’s eyes darted back and forth, his mind having yet to catch up with the rest of him, “Pepper, I can explain.”

“Oh really?” the girl let out a laugh, coming forward to loop her arms around his neck, bringing her nose only about two inches away from his. “Alright then, let’s hear it. Explain...” she requested with an impish smile.

Tony gawked, gesturing emptily toward Bruce, “I... he... I don’t--” He shook her off gently and stalked to the other side of the room and back again, trying not to make his tone sound accusatory, “First off, I have no idea how he even got in here!”

“Well that’s easy, I lent him my key,” Pepper shrugged her freckled right shoulder. Bruce reached into his shirt pocket and procured said trinket, holding it up so it could shimmer in the light.

“You lent him your key. Oh _okay!_ ” Tony threw his arms up. Who the Hell was she to get on his case if she was the one that let Bruce in in the first place? “Wait, what do you mean you _gave_ him your key?! You were the one who called me up and arranged tod--” Tony paused, when suddenly the reality of the situation caught up with him fully. _‘Oh my fucking God.’_ He stared at them both in shock. “You two set me up!” Tony mock-pouted, folding his arms, “I have half a mind to abstain out of spite.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Pepper put a hand on a hip, which flared the tiny pink skirt with fluffy white trim.

“Well, I could still go if that’s what Tony wants,” Bruce pointed out, beginning to button his shirt back up.

“Bruce, I was kidding,” Tony said flatly, reaching out to restrain Bruce’s hands from going any further with that task before turning to address Pepper, “I just... I didn’t think you knew. You’re really not put off by this?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“Would I be standing here in this--” Pepper motioned the length of her body-- “if I was?” It was a rhetorical question. She put her hands on Tony’s shoulders and began to walk him backwards towards the bed very purposefully. “Though the threesome _was_ Bruce’s idea... you should be thanking your friend for proposing such an intriguing Christmas present...”

The aforementioned boy grabbed onto Tony’s hips, pulling him down into his lap and rutting upward. “Oh, he’ll be thanking me. Won’t you?” Bruce asked, finding a place on his friend’s neck to bite.

To Tony’s credit, his first response would have been to remind Pepper that his ‘threesome fantasy’ was a remark made sophomore year when he found out that Pepper was working ‘one-on-one’ with Natasha Romanov on the school paper. She hadn’t appreciated the suggestion at the time; but in Tony’s defense, Pepper knew full well about his stance on hot redheads, and talking about lunch with ‘Tasha and all the ‘extra hours’ they were both putting in was pretty much leaving herself wide open. Though a ‘genius sandwich’ was a decent substitute... it was seeming pretty clear it would be an open-face genius sandwich-- not that Tony was about to complain about being put in the middle of things. He didn’t want to share Pep with Bruce anyway. Or vice-versa. “I’ll write you a thank you note in the morning,” he remarked through a shit-faced grin, “I have a feeling I’m gonna have my hands full tonight.”

"So you are…" Pepper grinned, taking Tony's hands and cupping them to her breasts as she straddled both boys' legs to take a seat in her ex's lap, pinning him between she and Bruce. She leaned in and pressed her lips to his. “You’ve been a very, _very_ naughty boy, Tony.”

“God, what do I unwrap first?” Tony asked semi-seriously as he kneaded the twin bulbs in his hands gently. Truth be told, after their first experience, Bruce had taken on the more assertive role in their relationship. Pepper had been pretty pro-active lately too. Were they leaving it up to him now, or were they just going to go at him like lions to a piece of meat?

_‘Wow. Okay that should_ not _turn me on as much as it just did.’_

“Let me help...” the redhead above him purred, reaching behind her back to unhook her bra-- how the Hell she could do that behind her back when it was so difficult for him to do looking straight _at it_ , he’d never know. It was like a complete mystery of engineering. Tony lifted his hands momentarily so Pepper could remove the article, and she dangled it momentarily on a couple of fingers before tossing it away. Tony’s eyes weren’t the only pair drawn-- Pepper tweaked a thin orange eyebrow at Bruce who was currently peeking over her ex’s shoulder. The boy cleared his throat, readjusted his glasses quickly (oh as _if_ that were an accident! she wasn’t fooled) and he found somewhere else to focus.

Tony shivered when one of Bruce’s hands slid around him and down his front, disappearing into his boxers to grope and fondle. Pepper didn’t stop kissing him, repeatedly smacking their mouths together, providing him little opportunity to vocalize. All of which seemed to answer former his unspoken question: Lions it was. Tony could work with that. Releasing his hold on her left breast, he reached backwards, pawing around until his fingers found Bruce’s waistband and slid underneath; immediately, the big guy gave an appreciative grunt at the reciprocated touch. Bruce began to get hard beneath him, the young man managing to buck his hips up despite the combined weight of two bodies on top of him.

It was starting to bother Tony that he couldn’t see Bruce. Determined to rectify that, he broke away from Pepper’s lips, craning his neck to capture Bruce’s eagerly. The girl didn’t seem to mind that his mouth had found a new destination, sitting back a tad in her ex’s lap to watch the two of them play hockey at the awkward angle. Ordinarily it would likely have frosted her to see her ex’s mouth on someone else, but in this case... well, it was just sort of hot. She bit her lip, soaking up the visual stimuli as Tony’s thumb continued to play across one of her nipples, sparking pleasurable sensations through her body.

All three of them were heating up, losing coherency. “We should...” Tony panted, pulling away from Bruce’s lips; his head was swimming, and he was slowly forgetting what he had wanted to say in the first place, “Change... places...”

Pepper took initiative first, but not before seizing a hold of her ex’s shoulders; she dismounted to the side and rolled onto her back on the large bed, pulling the boy atop her so she could regain lip-lock with him. Her hat fell off during the roll, landing beside them, only her skirt and panties remaining from her Christmas ‘outfit’. Bruce gave a soft snort at the possessive move on the redhead’s part, his lap now empty, but he stood to remove the rest of his clothing, keeping an interested eye on the two as he rounded the bed to search his friend’s nightstand.

Pepper chanced a quick glance Bruce’s way, unable to help her curiosity (if he was going to check her out, she may as well check _him_ out). She immediately understood why her ex was physically attracted to him-- underneath all the dorky clothing and spectacles was a rather good-looking guy.

Tony hummed into his ex’s mouth, letting his left hand explore whatever skin was within its reach while the right made a more purposeful journey down her stomach, stopping just between her legs; Pepper gave an appreciative moan of his name, wriggling at the tickling touch and spreading her legs to either side in welcome. He moved the crotch of her panties over and held it in place with his thumb as he continued to stimulate her... she was wet and he used her natural lubrication to swipe his fingertips along her labia. The girl’s breath hitched, fingers twining sharply into her ex’s dark hair.

Bruce meanwhile, had found the other teen’s stash of condoms. He glanced up at the two splayed out on the bed as if evaluating the scenario playing out in front of him and tore off two at the perforations. He clambered back onto the mattress and gave the back of Tony’s head a hard flick. Nothing. He gave him another one. “Hey,” he said when he’d gotten his friend’s attention, “I think you might want this.” Bruce held up the wrapped prophylactic.

Tony plucked the condom from his friend’s grasp. “Yeah, thanks,” he breathed out, “Now get back over here. I don’t think Pep invited you over just to watch.”

“Are you always this bossy?” Pepper quipped, letting one of her eyes slit open to peek up at her ex. The break allowed her to catch her breath momentarily.

Bruce gave another soft snort. “No, just most of the time,” he answered the girl’s question half-seriously. Since Tony hadn’t specified where he should put himself, Bruce found a spot behind the other boy once again and didn’t hesitate to tug the boxers down his legs, exposing his backside.

Tony snorted dismissively, kicking the offending garment off the rest of the way and onto the floor, “Don’t listen to him; _he’s_ the bossy one.”

“In that case, hold still,” Bruce commanded, quickly squeezing a dollop of KY onto a couple of fingers and snapping the cap shut. He swabbed them across the other teen’s entrance.

Tony groaned out, leaning into the contact just slightly, surprising himself with his own eagerness. He wondered if he should be embarrassed that Pepper was here to see this. But he quickly shed that qualm. Bruce’s fingers breached him and he had to fight for composure not to let on just how damn _good_ it felt to have those digits stroking against his insides. He decided to return his attention twofold to the girl lying below him, hands urging her to scoot up on the bed and angle her hips upward. With one little half-sided smirk, he lifted the fur-trimmed miniskirt and put his tongue to work, exploring and stimulating her from vulva to clit.

Pepper noticed the change in Tony's affect the moment Bruce began to work him over from behind-- she wondered what all he was _doing_ that was making her ex so hot under the collar... but she concluded it must have been good. Even better was the fact that it was transferring through Tony _to_ her... The way his tongue was playing patterns upon her made the girl want to melt into the bedspread.

Bruce found that he had a front-row seat to the cunnilingus his friend was performing on his ex and he was barely blinking, glad he hadn’t removed his glasses for the whole affair. Pepper was squirming and panting, and Bruce wondered if that was what he looked like when Tony had gone down on him. He reached down with his left to pump his own erection while he continued to open Tony up with his right... twisting, curling, spreading. He let out a shaky exhale.

After the initial awkwardness, the three of them found a rhythm, Tony rocking his hips in time with Bruce’s strokes, tongue lapping slowly and eagerly in time with the arching of Pepper’s pelvis. Her breath was becoming labored, and she reached down to comb her fingers through the hair on the back of his head. “Tony...” she panted out desirously. He lifted his head enough to see her looking down at him with a lustful viridian stare that communicated exactly what she wanted from him.

Sensing the change in mood, Tony handed the condom to Pepper, “Little busy; could you get that for me?” She could hear the smirk in his voice more than see it.

“I think maybe I could...” Pepper murmured. It was hard to focus on tearing along the perforations while her ex moved his tongue in and out of her, but eventually she managed to remove the rubber, pinching it between her pink painted fingernails. “Tony,” she said, but the boy didn’t look back up. “Tony.” The girl caught eyes with her ex’s friend. “Bruce, could you...?” she trailed off, gaze flicking down to where her ex’s head was still eagerly buried between her legs, showing no signs of stopping anytime soon without intervention.

The boy caught on and reached down to grip his friend by the hair. He pulled him upright such that Tony’s back was flush against his front, removing his fingers from his backside to grip him by the hip instead and prevent any squirming.

“Easy!” Tony yelped, “I’d like to leave this without a bald spot, if possible!”

“Thank you, Bruce,” Pepper said frankly, clearly not as concerned about his follicular health. She sat up so she could place the condom on the end of her ex’s prick and began unrolling it down the length of his shaft.

Tony licked his lips, a touch impatient as he waited for her to finish pushing it to the base. “You ready?” he said, eyes on Pepper, but leaning back into Bruce just enough to indicate that he was asking both of them.

The other boy picked up on it. “We are if you are,” he replied into his friend’s ear, letting his grip loosen. Pepper got back onto her back.

“I don’t need to tell you how ready I am...” Tony spoke in a low rumble, adjusting himself so he could position himself between her legs. She reached up to wind her arms around his neck as he slid inside her, moaning rapturously. Bruce hurried to catch up with the two of them, fumbling with the pesky wrapper in his slick fingertips.

Tony chuckled, short and light, “I thought you said you were ready.” He received a little swat for his clever snark, but soon enough Bruce was pressing up against him from behind, leaning over him.

Tony moaned, soaking in the body heat, the gentle press of another person’s weight, the exquisite sensation of skin-on-skin that made his nerves tingle. And what with already being inside Pepper... yeah, overstimulation was an understatement. If Bruce wasn’t quick, Tony worried that they might finish before his friend got a chance to actually get in on the main event... and God, did Tony want the big guy to be in on this. “Christ, Bruce...” he pleaded, “If you’re gonna fuck me, then do it now...”

Bruce took the invitation, pressing his hips forward the way he’d done before to overcome the initial resistance of his friend’s body. His eyes slid shut, uttering a moan as heat surrounded him to the hilt. It was just as good as the first time... if not better because now he knew exactly how good it could be. He took an unsteady thrust, the motion a little weird with Tony’s own gyrations. Eventually however, he found he could thrust in as Tony pulled back and pull back as Tony thrust forward.

Tony was definitely getting more than his fill. Alternating back and forth between two divinely pleasurable but wholy separate sensations... the action of both partners’ hips thrusting against him... the way two pairs of hands wandered his body... both wanting him, needing him... their pants and moans echoing in his ears like stereo. Jesus fuck. Tony didn’t know if he could last long like this. A little whine slipped out of his throat. Judging from the way Pepper’s muscles were clenching around him, and the breathless way she was repeating his name, he probably wasn’t the only one.

The redhead sought out his mouth as her hips canted upward, a stroke’s breadth away from climax. All of her ex’s ‘linguistics’ had served their purpose in getting her worked up and primed for the moment. She bit into his lower lip as she came, cry muffled but high-pitched; her thighs clamped against him as the sensations culminated and washed over her.

Bruce hummed and sped up his actions when he heard her finish, thrusting a little faster and harder as he took a hand and combed it through Tony’s hair. “That makes it your turn...” he murmured. His other hand tightened on the other boy’s haunch.

Tony gave a groan at the knowledge, rapidly nodding. Tilting his head back, he focused on the sensations that were coursing through his body and pushing him ever closer to the edge, from the hand stroking his scalp to the hard length driving in and out of him. "Fuck..." He continued to roll his hips backward to meet Bruce's thrusts and thrust forward to claim the warmth of Pepper’s spent form. Beneath him, the girl watched in a haze, running her fingertips up and over where his heart was thudding away in his chest. The edges of his vision began to blur, and he screwed his eyes shut as he tumbled headlong off the precipice of his orgasm, moaning loudly as he rode it out to completion.

That left him. Bruce breathed out and shut his eyes again, placing both hands on Tony’s hips to continue guiding him back onto him. Pepper watched with fascination as he took his time in building to a head-- Tony hadn’t even gone limp inside her yet, still making little noises of pleasure and enjoyment each time the other boy thrust in-- and a couple minutes later he was losing it into their shared lover with a grit-teethed grunt.

“God... please don’t tell me it’s over already...” Tony moaned out once he'd regained enough coherency to speak, his nerves still tingling from the experience. Behind him, the big guy pulled out and Tony released a sigh. “Guys, that was... fucking... wow,” he attempted to tell them, “I mean..."

“Glad you enjoyed it,” Pepper interrupted, smiling smugly as she leaned up to give him a kiss on the tip of his nose. He slipped out of her and she went to find her bra. Bruce, meanwhile, once he’d knotted and tossed the condom into Tony’s not-oft-used trashcan, chose to sprawl out on his friend’s bed and relax. Though he was rather amused that Tony was, for the better part, tongue-tied.

Tony mirrored the action with his own condom, flopping back on the bed with a longer, more contented sigh. Well _that_ wasn’t how he’d expected his Christmas to end. If only _every_ Christmas could be as good as this one had been.

Bruce heard his friend’s exhale and he chuckled. “Good present?” he asked, giving him a sideways glance.

Tony hummed, “ _Great_ present.” He reached out to ruffle his friend’s hair even more than it already was, “And you’re telling me this was all _your_ idea?”

“All his,” Pepper confirmed, hooking her bra back on; Bruce cleared his throat. “I’m going to get dressed,” she announced, pausing to eye the both of them still unabashedly in the nude. “You two might think about doing the same.” And with that she turned on her heel and exited the bedroom.

Tony finally gave in to his compulsion to lean over and plant a rough but brief kiss on Bruce’s lips. He couldn’t help it-- in its own way, it was one of the most thoughtful gifts he’d ever received, especially considering the other teen had managed to convince Pepper to be the third party. In the aftermath of lust and passion, the knowledge had a rather... unexpected effect on Tony, and left him even more enamored with the other boy. Still, he wasn’t foolhardy enough to say as much to his friend at the moment, so the kiss really was the only way to go in expressing his gratitude. “Merry Christmas,” he muttered, pulling away to (reluctantly) scan the ground for his discarded clothing.

“And to all a good night,” Bruce returned jokingly, sitting up as well. He was just glad everything had gone as well as it had, but Tony having enjoyed himself thoroughly was a bonus. He looked at his friend pointedly. “My pants are downstairs on the couch; where are yours?”

“They’re in the hallway with the rest of his clothes!” Pepper called from the bathroom.

“Oh shit, that’s right,” Tony remarked. “Fit of passion and all that. Am I driving you both home?” He addressed the question mainly to Bruce, “I mean, I didn’t see your ride out there.”

“If you’re willing,” Bruce said even though of course Tony was perfectly willing and he could probably use tonight as grounds for requesting solids for the rest of their adult lives. “I had Betty drop me off,” he explained. It would have ruined the surprise for Tony to see his scooter out on the curb. He slipped on his shirt.

“You think you should call ahead? You know, make sure that things are...” Tony searched for the right words, “...family-friendly, before you go back?”

Bruce lifted an eyebrow.

“You know... G-Rated? Suitable for young audiences? I’m trying to be PC here; I just saw them this morning for fuck’s sake.”

“And I’d think since they’ve had...” Bruce checked his wristwatch-- “over six hours... that they’d be done by now.”

“Well I don’t know, maybe my dad went over there and they turned it into a marathon.” Tony grinned up until the moment Bruce grabbed his ear and twisted-- “ _Yeeow!_ ”

“What in the world are you two going on about now?” Pepper returned, back to her hoodie, skirt and tennis shoes, purse on her arm. She clicked her tongue at the lack of progress either boy had done in getting dressed. Well, there was no way she was getting back home before seven.

Bruce cleared his throat, forcibly attempting to keep a blush from creeping up his neck. “Ah... nothing much. Here you go.” He stuffed the spare house key into her pink hat, which he thrust into her hands as he hurriedly moved past her and towards the downstairs.

“Bruce, I was kidding!” Tony griped, rubbing his ear, “My dad’s at that charity dinner thing!” He strode after, but stopped to start scooping up his clothing, calling out, “If it makes you feel any better I’m probably gonna have nightmares after saying that marathon thing out loud!”

Pepper shook her head. “Dear Lord, we are never going to get out of here...” she mumbled under her breath.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Tony, Unplugged' Track List:  
> 1) Underneath the Sycamore: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tNmzXCGFHYI  
> 2) Faster: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jDJpf2mQ0w4  
> 3) Heal Over: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b-SnU9zMDcc  
> 4) In My Mind: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zi-_1xgd2XI  
> 5) Artificial Heart: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7COV7R8sY9c  
> 6) Redshirt: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xQIuapbeh0I  
> 7) The Elements Song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3uNIiDhkODU  
> 8) Count Me Out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M7xpe3KwMuE   
> 9) Is It My Body?: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nRHrD67VdIg  
> 10) I Don’t Wanna Miss A Thing: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vo_0UXRY_rY  
> 11) I Want Love: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ufbexgPyeJQ   
> 12) -Missing Track-  
> 13) Merry Christmas from Chiron Beta Prime: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qjgctnX3fbw

“Well, this is your stop, Big Guy,” Tony announced needlessly as he slowed the ‘stang to a stop by the curb outside his friend’s house. He had dropped Pepper off at her place first, so it was just the two of them now.

“Thanks,” Bruce leaned over to give his friend a parting hug. As he pulled away, he added a peck on the cheek before pushing the door handle outward.

Tony tried to make the subsequent tugging up of his coat collar appear nonchalant as his face grew heated. Did Bruce have any idea what kind of signals he was sending? Forget the fact that they’d just shared a bed with his ex; this was tip-toeing on the edge of a very different type of intimate, one that Bruce had given no previous indication of interest towards. While it wasn’t in any way unwelcome, it was far from expected, and it brought a dormant question back to the forefront of Tony’s mind. He tried to ignore it as he continued, “I’ll teach you how to use the iPod tomorrow or something, you know, assuming you don’t figure it out before then.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” he said agreeably.

Tony bit his lip, weighing his question before voicing it, “You haven’t, uh, tried it out yet... have you?”

“Not yet. Why?” Bruce asked curiously.

“Oh, uh...” Tony choked, “No reason. I just... I dunno. Neverm--”

Bruce’s hand plopped down on Tony’s head to rub reassuringly. He didn’t want Tony to think his gift wasn’t appreciated. “It’s been a busy day; I’ll get to it soon. I’m looking forward to it.” He smiled.

“Yeah?” Tony smiled back, mirroring his friend. He was equally glad for both the reassurance and the save. He didn’t want to end up spoiling Bruce’s surprise.

The other teen nodded and stood to the sidewalk. He shut the door and hesitated uncertainly when he thought back to earlier that day and what he had promised Betty he’d do. “Hey... we should, um... talk sometime,” he said dispassionately. He hoped it would go without saying that by ‘talk’ he meant something a little more serious than their typical banter.

Tony’s grip on the steering wheel tightened for a brief second (‘We should talk.’ was typically datespeak for ‘We should break up.’), but he relaxed once he’d reminded himself that ‘relationship’ wasn’t a language Bruce spoke, and neither of them were even in one besides.

Wait a minute.

_‘...Oh.’_ “Oh,” Tony voiced blankly as the realization hit him, and suddenly his front door felt like it was a thousand miles behind him. “Yeah, I mean if you want to, then sure. No big deal. We’ll totally talk.”

“Okay,” Bruce nodded again. While neither of them had specified a time or date for said talk, at least this way Tony knew it was coming and Betty could rest easy. “See you tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Tony croaked out, clearing his throat. He waved his friend off earnestly, “Later, big guy.”

“Later,” Bruce returned, fishing for his house keys in his pocket as he headed up the driveway. He unlocked it and turned inside the doorway and gave one last wave as Tony sped off into the night. He entered and shut and locked the door after himself.

It was dark inside save the little light above the kitchen counter; Bruce followed it, eyebrows drawing down somewhat. It didn’t seem late enough for his parents to have retired for the night. This time of evening he would have expected to see his mom sitting out in the living room reading under her lamp. Bruce flicked on the fluorescents to grab a cup out of the cabinet, nabbing a cookie off the plate on the counter and placing it in his mouth as he reached for the handle of the refrigerator to get some milk.

And that was when he saw it.

Bruce blinked disbelievingly at the note that had been left for him, held by a magnet to the surface of the fridge.

_‘Bruce,_

_Your father and I have left for Menlo Park and won’t be back until after New Years. Please look after the house and everything while we are gone? I know you will. There are leftovers in the fridge and some grocery money, if you need it, on the dining room table. You can use my car to go to the store or wherever; we took your father’s for the trip. Remember to lock the front and back doors before you go to bed and take out the garbage Thursday night. We will both miss you very much and we both love you very much._

_-Mommy’_

He stared because this had never, not _once_ happened in his life before.

He was home alone. And his parents were on... vacation.

Baffled, perplexed, flabbergasted, Bruce poured his drink and contemplated what to do with himself. Obviously tomorrow morning he’d head over to Tony’s and probably spend the remainder of his break there-- there was no point in hanging out in an empty house. But until then? He drank slowly, thoughtfully. Well, he could try out his new Kindle. He tried not to snort into his milk at that thought.

Bruce sighed, leaning up against the counter and worrying the inside of his lip as he read the note a second time. It felt so surreal. That _his_ parents had taken off for a spontaneous week-long pleasure trip. That was something _other_ couples did. His mind drifted back to the tour pamphlet he’d found upstairs on his father’s desk in the study. He wondered if...

The teen set his cup down roughly and hurried up the stairs, taking them two at a time. When he reached the top, he held his breath and gripped the knob, turning it...

Locked. Bruce muttered a nasty curse under his breath, jiggling it a few times just to be sure. Giving up, he released it and slammed his back against the wood.

His phone vibrated in his pocket; Bruce plucked it out to read the received message. _‘So are they done having sex yet? :P’_

Bruce rolled his eyes at Tony’s text. _‘Pretty sure, yeah.’_ he keyed back, choosing to keep the information to himself for now that they had left him home alone.

Eventually he took himself back downstairs. He finished his milk, rinsed out the cup and added it to the top rack of the dishwasher and clicked off the kitchen light, heading back to his bedroom. Choosing to dress down for the evening, he removed his coat and hung it and soon he was lying on his back in his pjs on top of the covers, iPod gripped delicately in his fingertips. He unwound the cord on the earbuds, first ensuring there were no kinks in any of the wires before carefully sticking each bud into his ear canal and waking up the screen of the device by pressing the little button on the top. He slid the bar across and a navigation menu popped up; he set it to sort by artist, scanning over the large selection his friend had sought to bestow upon him (or inflict upon him, depending on how one felt about Tony’s tastes in music). His thumb idly flicked upwards across the touch screen to get past AC/DC and Aerosmith, moving towards the bottom of the alphabet.

Which was when his eyes happened across another thing he hadn’t expected to see that evening.

His friend’s name, nestled among the Ts.

Irrationally his heart leapt. Bruce blinked at it and, completely ignoring his other options, depressed his thumb against the entry, opening it up. Doing so revealed an entire 13-track album, which was entitled ‘Tony: Unplugged’. A wide smile pulled across his face as he made the connection. Tony had _purposely_ been playing guitar in the den without him. To create what was right here before his eyes.

“What did I say about being charming when you wanted to be...?” Bruce murmured to the empty room. He leaned back into his pillow and pressed play.

The first three songs were all familiar ones. ‘Underneath the Sycamore’, ‘Faster’, and ‘Heal Over’. Tony’s covers weren’t as technically intricate or dolled-up as the originals-- they couldn’t be since all he had to work with was his guitar and voice. Nonetheless, the melodies caressed Bruce’s ears... slow for the first, then fast (and faster and faster) in the middle, then slow again as the third song which had been sung to him in the basement came to a gentle close. Now he could listen to it whenever he wanted... as much as he wanted, provided the iPod had a charge. Not that it was a substitute for the real thing, in-person. He sighed half-dreamily. Bruce was tempted to put the third song on repeat, but allowed the device to continue the playlist uninterrupted.

‘In My Mind’ was a bit quirky, bordering on psychotic, but the ending made him chuckle anyway. Tony did have a laundry list of what many would ascribe as ‘flaws’, but the teen pulled them off; the lyrics were somewhat fitting in that regard. From there the album continued on a humorous note, playing through a couple of Jonathan Coulton songs, ‘Artificial Heart’ and ‘Redshirt’, the latter of which had obviously done to tickle the Trekkie in him. And after that came ‘The Elements Song’ which used an old Gilbert and Sullivan showtune to recite all the elements on the periodic table (dating back to the 1960s anyways, since several more _had_ since been discovered). How Tony managed to twist his tongue around fast enough to sing the lyrics himself was a marvel and Bruce grinned from ear to ear at the combined display of cleverness and wit. He supposed this was his friend’s subtle way of saying that he actually _did_ know what was an element on the periodic table and what wasn’t, since Adamantium nor Dilithium hadn’t been ad libbed in.

He hadn’t expected (but probably should have) the next three tracks to utilize Tony’s electric-- even though the album had ‘unplugged’ in the title, it would have been odd indeed for his friend to limit himself to songs that were best played by acoustic. The heavier instrumentation was accompanied by a slightly rougher ‘grit’ to his friend’s voice... lower, throatier... Kind of... well, hot actually, if Bruce wanted to be completely honest with himself-- though wasn’t that the innate nature of a ‘rockstar’, to have sex appeal? Tony had just managed to duplicate that.

Bruce shut his eyes, easily able to envision his friend’s quick, nimble fingers dancing and tripping across the neck of his instrument as the guitar solo to ‘Count Me Out’ fed into a final chorus, his voice picking back up where it had left off, strong and clear. The song pounded to a fading finish and ‘Is It My Body?’ took its place, whatever effects pedal had been applied giving it a distinctly 1970s-esque sound. The question the song presented-- ‘what have I got that makes you want to love me?’-- made Bruce lift an eyebrow, wondering if he was supposed to answer it. Nearly everything attracted him to the other boy, body included.

The song that followed, ‘I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing’, was slow-paced for a rock song. Bruce recognized the tune; it was classic enough that he had occasionally heard it playing over one radio station or another (and he was able to hum along softly), not that he had really listened to it intently until now. After hearing the first couple minutes of lyrics, he had to conclude it was more what one would classify a power ballad. Bruce noticed then with a bit of surprise that the album had taken an almost romantic turn... and the next track did little to dispel that realization.

As Tony began to reenact Elton John’s ‘I Want Love’, Bruce shifted to sit up against the headboard of his bed, self-consciously picking at the skin on the side of his thumbnail. What was it he’d told Betty that morning? That Tony wasn’t seeking a relationship? His skin prickled in reaction to the sheer number of times the line repeated, stanza after stanza... ‘I want love.’ He tried to remind himself that it was just a song, but the way his friend was pouring his heart and soul into every note... he didn’t know how much he could attribute singularly to talent. There was _feeling_ behind those words, Bruce could tell.

The song wound down into its final seconds and he found himself biting at his lower lip; Bruce wondered after that performance how much further this could go without Tony out-and-out _confessing_ the love he wanted was his.

Bruce looked down at the screen. ‘Track 11 - I Want Love’ disappeared and in its place appeared ‘Track 13 - Merry Christmas from Chiron Beta Prime’.

His eyebrows knotted in the center. Wait, what had happened to twelve? Bruce poked the button to go back to the list as a catchy Christmassy tune flooded the earbuds. He scrolled up, then back down again and then a couple more times, counting, but there was no mistaking it, the thirteen-track album only had _twelve_ tracks.

He didn’t know whether to feel jipped or if Tony had simply made an error in compiling the playlist. He listened the rest of the last song in a state of bafflement. It seemed like such a harsh contrast up against the one before it, where all the rest of the transitions had been reasonably smooth or at least logical in one way or another. This just... Bruce shook his head; it felt like it had been crammed into the place where something _else_ should have been...

He tried not to let it bother him as he scrolled back up to ‘Heal Over’ and listened to it again. Funny that both their Christmas gifts had in some way used it. His heart fluttered and the teenage boy allowed himself to hug the small electronic to his chest as if doing so could carry the affection across the miles to Tony himself. His friend really had no idea how much his compilation meant to him. Somehow he’d have to find a way to express it. Some day.

After a third replay, Bruce reluctantly removed the earbuds and wound them back around the iPod. He couldn’t keep listening all night, even if he’d happily admire Tony’s voice through to the morning. But he _would_ hear it tomorrow morning, he thought with a smile. When he went over to his place and they were together again. Maybe he’d even ask Tony to perform for him in person again. If he could work up the courage.

Bruce located the charger inside the box on his desk and plugged it into the wall socket alongside the charger for his phone, going to brush his teeth so he could turn in for the evening. Tomorrow morning couldn’t get here soon enough.

\--

Back at the Stark residence, Tony lay awake in his bed. He’d given up on a text back; Bruce was probably fast asleep after the long day, and he couldn’t blame him. His iPod was set to play his own album. His earbuds delivered track twelve in a constant loop, until either he fell asleep, or decided he was tired of hearing his own voice. Bruce would have taken that as an opportunity to say “That might take a while.”. He chuckled to himself.

‘Bruce...’

His friend was full of surprises, it seemed. He wondered if that was largely due to his own influence, or if he’d simply managed to give his friend the green light to unleash the long-hidden facets of his personality. Between collaborating with his ex for that threesome ambush, and the surprising suggestion that they talk about where they stood in their relationship, the teen had Tony doubting whether he’d really been responsible for anything other than his friend’s newfound fondness for nicotine.

_‘Well, Tony, you picked yourself a handful; what else is new?’_

He smiled lazily at the ceiling; he still couldn’t wait to get together with Bruce and put those stars up. He may have chickened out and left the song off of Bruce’s copy, but as he lay there, eyes closed and fingers picking invisible strings with the same pick he’d been gifted that morning, he imagined he was delivering it in person. Maybe one of these days he could.

\--

Bruce awoke promptly at seven AM. He headed to the shower humming and left it humming-- it was impossible not to with all the melodies still playing in his head from the night before. He traipsed into the kitchen barefoot with nothing but his damp towel tied about his midsection, taking the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to do so without his parents there. It felt liberating in some way just to be able to do it. He got a pan and laid some ingredients down into it to fry while he cracked three eggs into a bowl and whisked them. Once he’d poured it in, he turned down the heat a little and went to go get dressed.

He came back to an evenly cooked omelette, folding it in half and sliding it out onto a plate. He poured out a glass of orange juice and ate standing, with his butt leaned up against the counter-- again an assertion of his solitude; rules were you ate meals at the table. But the rulemakers were gone. Which meant he got to make his _own_. Not that that meant he was going to behave irresponsibly, just that he was going to do a few things a little differently.

Bruce rinsed off his dishes and went back down the hall to put together an overnight bag with a few changes of clothes and his toiletries, along with a couple of books to read (including Flowers for Algernon-- book club was coming up in less than a week!) and, of course, his brand new iPod. Once he was certain he had everything he’d be needing while staying at Tony’s, he returned to the kitchen and found the tupperware containing Christmas Eve’s dinner. There wasn’t any reason not to take it all over-- it would only go bad left here in the fridge, and he could only envision his friend’s father’s elation when not one, but _four_ containers of leftovers showed up on his doorstep. He chuckled softly as he put them in a stack.

Finding his mother’s car keys, Bruce dialed down the thermostat to a lower temperature-- no need to run up the electric bill if he wasn’t going to be there-- and made sure all the lights were off and doors were locked before heading out to the garage. As he slid behind the wheel, he looked over at the radio; he wondered if Tony would also be willing to rig him up a device that would allow his iPod to communicate with his car like his friend’s did, so he could listen on the go. Well, _when_ he finally owned one of his own, of course. He’d have to ask. Bruce chuckled again and started the car.

The drive took far too long, even though it was no longer than usual-- he was just impatient to spend the rest of the day with his friend (and to seal lips with him). He parked the Civic along the curb and got out, backpack and tupperware in hand, hurrying up the driveway to the mansion. He rang the doorbell and waited, rocking from his toes to his heels and back again. He waited a half a minute or so and then pressed it again. _‘God, Tony, open the door already.’_ The teen maybe got another fifteen seconds before buzzing it a third time.

“What do you want?!” The door swung open almost violently, and in an instant Bruce was face-to-face with an irate Howard Stark. From the looks of it, the charity banquet had gone as horribly as anticipated, and the way the multi-billionaire was reacting to the sights and sounds of the early December morning was evidence enough that he was nursing the mother of all hangovers, “I swear to God if this is more of that wassail bullshit--”

Bruce thrust his four containers stuffed with leftovers in front of him in quick, wordless peace-offering.

Howard paused mid-threat to register what lay before him. Once he fully recognized what Bruce was holding, a grin overtook his face, eyes widening (appropriately) to the size of dinner plates. Bruce thought he saw a tear roll down the man’s cheek, but it may have just been his imagination. Without warning, Howard pulled the unsuspecting teen into a crushing hug, clapping hands roughly on the teenager’s back, “Bruce, my boy! You came through for me!”

“Yes, s--” Bruce bit off the word before he could finish it and transitioned quickly, “Yes, I _sure_ did.” He stepped back out of the hug once he’d been released and fixed his skewed glasses.

“Well what the Hell are you doing standing out here on the porch? Come inside!” Howard bellowed, thankfully not dragging Bruce back with him through the door.

Bruce resisted the urge to be a smartass and point out the reason he hadn’t yet come in was because the man had been standing in the entry yelling at him. Instead he just delivered a “Thanks.” and followed him in towards the kitchen (kicking off his shoes on autopilot). “Tony still in bed?” Bruce ventured a guess, not spying his friend anywhere downstairs.

“Boy probably has his music on,” Howard snorted. “He’d be barreling down the stairs by now if he didn’t.”

“Alright,” the teenager nodded, stacking the tupperware onto an empty shelf of the fridge in easy, locatable reach. He turned back to Howard, resisting the urge to barrel _up_ the stairs and remain polite to the man of the house. “Would it be alright with you if I stayed the next few nights, sir? My parents are actually... uh, out of town.”

Howard seemed to mull it over for a few moments before responding. “Can you cook?” In spite of outward appearances, it was hardly a question.

Bruce felt a chuckle rise up in his chest; he pushed his hands into his pockets. “I can cook. But I’ll need actual, you know, ingredients. From the grocery store.” The sarcastic tone of the young man’s voice conveyed that the availability of said components was sadly lacking within the Stark household.

Howard nodded, “Then make out a grocery list and make yourself at home.”

“Got any special dinner requests?”

“Surprise me,” Howard challenged.

“Will do,” Bruce grinned, turning to go.

“Is that all you brought with you?” Howard asked, tilting his head slightly as he eyed the overnight bag.

“Oh,” Bruce glanced over his shoulder at the pack on his back, “Yeah. I kinda pack light.” He shrugged.

“Oh, Bruce,” Howard shot Bruce a pitiful look, “You thought we might’ve said no?” He put a hand to his chest, “That hurts. It’s like you don’t know us at all.”

“I um... well...” the boy said ineloquently, “it would’ve been within your right to say ‘no’...”

“I’m just giving you a hard time, boy. I’ll send you back with Tony later to get the rest.”

“Right,” Bruce cleared his throat and forced a little laugh-- he wasn’t exactly used to people Howard’s age actually _having_ a sense of humor and it was still hard for him to process. “I’m gonna...” he hooked his thumb towards the stairs, hoping to be excused.

“Oh yeah. Go on ahead,” Howard waved dismissively, pinching the bridge of his nose as he was violently reminded of why he’d been so grumpy answering the door.

“Thanks. You, um... stay hydrated,” the high schooler recommended as he walked backwards towards the banister. He took ahold of it in his left hand, hesitating just a couple seconds longer to make sure Mr. Stark didn’t want to ask or tell him anything else, and then bolted up the stairs like a jackrabbit.

Tony’s door was shut. There wasn’t much precedence for privacy considering the nature of their relationship (what was the worst he could walk in on? Tony masturbating? After last night, seeing Tony’s _ex_ naked, he doubted there’d be issue), so Bruce twisted the knob and let himself in.

Tony was lying on his bed, (fully dressed) his eyes closed and head bobbing. He had his headphones in and, judging by the fact that Bruce could hear the song from where he was standing, his friend was likely unaware of his entry, or any other noise Bruce could care to make. He took a moment to just stand and watch, both admiringly and amusedly. The other teen was miming the chords with his fingers. It was undoubtedly, in Tony’s mind, an ‘epic’ air guitar solo-- Bruce had to question if there was any other kind. His head tilted interestedly when he noticed that Tony was ‘using’ the guitar pick he’d given him the previous morning.

Dropping his backpack near his friend’s desk, Bruce stole over to the side of the bed. He adjusted his glasses and poked the screen of Tony’s phone-- which was just sitting beside him-- to wake it up. Grinning, Bruce poked the pause command.

Tony sprung up into a sitting position almost immediately, hand reaching for the smartphone instinctually and snatching it up to eyeball the screen, completely missing Bruce in the process, “The Hell?”

Bruce laughed at the reaction, slapping his knee. He didn’t always get to pull one over on his friend, so it was sweet indeed.

“Ah!” Tony yelped, whipping around to face the noise while simultaneously leaping away from it, “The _fuck_ , Bruce?!”

“Aren’t happy to see me?” the spectacled boy questioned, mouth still pulled into a wide grin.

Tony was torn between gaping and glaring in response, the result being an unattractive marriage of the two. Bruce laughed again, and without warning, pounced the other teen. It was uncharacteristically cheery and light-hearted for him, he was aware, but he was honestly head-over-heels for the other boy right now and he was going to show it as a result.

“God, _someone’s_ in a good mood today...” Tony succumbed to the grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. He purred. “Tell me what they did to you, so I can do it with our clothes off.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce apologized as they rolled to a stop. He captured his lower lip between his teeth to worry it, torn between explaining what had put him in a good mood or just rolling with it (no pun intended). “I was just looking forward to seeing you,” he settled for a middle-ground, letting himself get lost in the wide brown eyes looking back at him.

Tony chuckled, gazing back up at his friend with mirthful eyes. “Glad I’m not alone there,” he said before leaning up to steal a kiss. “So did you bring dad his leftovers? Because I had to sit through his drunken bitching last night until he fell asleep, and if you ‘forgot’ again, I don’t think I could’ve handled it.”

The boy chuckled. “Yeah, I did. And I’m gonna be cooking for you both the rest of the week,” he said conversationally, propping his head up with an arm.

“You’re _what_?” Tony asked in disbelief.

“You’re not going to believe this any more than I did,” Bruce said, “but my parents went on vacation. They left me a note saying so on the fridge-- they were gone by the time I got back last night. So I’m staying over through to New Years.” He paused and shrugged, “Well, I’ll have to visit my place to take in the mail and stuff of course, but yeah. Other than that,” he smiled, inching in closer, “I don’t intend to leave your side.”

“Seriously?” Tony grinned. “ _And_ you’re cooking? You know he might never let you leave, right?” he warned.

Bruce gave a hum, noticing the way Tony’s arms were wrapped around his middle. “Speak for yourself...” he murmured, planting his mouth on Tony’s.

Tony pressed back into the kiss eagerly, slipping the jacket off of Bruce’s shoulder with one hand and feeling for those pesky buttons with the other. He pulled back in confusion when his fingers grazed nothing but cotton in their frenzied searching. “No button-up today?” he asked, a little confused, “Do you even _own_ any regular t-shirts?” 

The teen grinned, baring the circuit-heart on his chest. “Only bedshirts, but I remembered this morning that I never quite got this back to you.”

Tony leaned back silently on his elbows, dumbstruck, as his eyes took in the sight of Bruce wearing the shirt Tony had lent him almost thoughtlessly after their ‘first’. He willed himself not to stare too fondly. Now was not the time to be getting sentimental, damn it! Though, in his defense, Tony had imagined it would have been returned to him in a plastic bag. Neat, folded, possibly ironed: impersonal. Not on his friend’s back. That in and of itself was a little bit of a shocker. Add onto that that Bruce looked damn good in his clothes and, yeah, sue him for not having something decent to respond with immediately. After gaping for another second or two, Tony’s hands shot for the hem of the garment, tugging upwards gently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he scoffed, a playful smirk quirking his lips upward, “It’s _your_ shirt; you’re just letting the floor borrow it for the next few minutes.”

If Bruce had any thanks to give or protest to make, neither made it past Tony’s lips.

\--

Bruce gave the cumin, coriander, cardamom, turmeric, chili powder and sour cream mixture one last stir before pouring it into the sizzling pan with the braised onion, garlic and ginger. He stirred it together with the wooden spoon, getting it even and standing back to let it reduce for a couple of minutes. Taking Howard and Tony to the grocery store earlier that day had been... amusing, to say the least. The former had even managed to get lost inside the store when Bruce had sent the older man to the meat section to fetch the chicken breasts that were waiting to go into the pan. He and Tony had actually had to page his father over the intercom to relocate him (as it turned out, he’d been side-tracked by an attractive female employee offering free samples).

“Dad wants to know how much longer ‘til dinner’s ready. Again,” Tony muttered, strolling into the kitchen to stand next to Bruce. After the first three check-ins (each less than five minutes apart), Howard was temporarily banned from the kitchen and was now sending Tony in his stead. It seemed impatience was hereditary.

The teen chuckled, pouring the steaming water and saffron concoction into the pan, filling it halfway to full. “Twenty minutes. Think he can wait that long?”

Tony rolled his eyes, even though his stomach had been protesting just as loudly as his father’s for the past forty-five minutes. He texted his dad the news. “I think he’ll survive. You need an extra pair of hands?” he offered.

“Hm...” Bruce vocalized thoughtfully. “Well, if I can trust you with a knife, you could quarter the potatoes.”

“Trust me with a knife?” Tony scoffed, opening the knife drawer, “You make it sound like I haven’t been re-wiring electronics since age nine. I’m pretty sure I can handle a knife.”

“Okay, well cutting boards and motherboards aren’t the same thing.” Bruce pushed the pot of half-cooked potatoes in front of the other boy so he could get to work on them.

“Shit. Where _do_ we keep the cutting board?” Tony muttered to himself, nearly everything beyond the microwave and fridge completely alien to him.

“Beside the toaster,” Bruce illuminated, already having the layout of the Stark kitchen down. He went back to stirring the sauce in the frying pan which was just beginning to bubble.

“Toaster, toaster...” Tony repeated, eyes darting around the kitchen in search of the appliance. Well this was embarrassing.

“You’re hopeless,” Bruce chuckled, sliding it out and handing it to his friend. “But it’s cute.” He kissed him on the forehead.

Tony didn’t know which to take, the insult or the complement. Either way, he deserved both, and the kiss was nice, so he shrugged it off and returned the favor, pecking his friend’s temple. “You’re insane, my dad could storm in any minute to ask about dinner again,” he chastised as he took a potato out and sliced through it carefully; his tone wasn’t regretful in the slightest.

“Doubtful,” Bruce returned, brandishing his stirring spoon-- he’d bat the back of Howard’s hand with it hard enough to leave a red mark when the older man had attempted to stick his finger into the mix of spices ‘to sample it’ earlier. “Just toss the chunks in as you go.”

“Got it,” Tony echoed, cutting through the two halves that had resulted and tilting his head at them. “Hey, quarters is just two cuts, right?” X-axis, y-axis... that made quadrants...

“Yeah, but if they’re big you can make them eighths.” Bruce smirked, “It’s not an exact science.”

Tony shrugged, “Simple enough.” Z-axis it was. He sliced once more, then moved on to the next spud.

When the last of the ingredients had been added, Bruce put a lid over the pan and lowered the temperature. “And now the easy part. We let it simmer for fifteen minutes.” He smiled, feeling rather accomplished-- so often he played the part of cook’s aid, but this time he’d done it himself, start to finish and Tony had been his aid.

“Smells great,” Tony said, and immediately after he’d said it, he felt his stomach groan again. Only Bruce would call waiting the easy part. “Oh God, I need to find something to do or that’ll drive me crazy.” He patted his pockets, looking for his phone. Frowning, he turned out his pockets, but all he had was a few stray bills and his car keys. “Dammit, I left my phone in the car.”

“I don’t know if that’s code for ‘Hey, I want to go make-out in the garage.’ or if you actually left it,” Bruce settled his eyes on the other teen.

“No, no, I did. Not that I think that’s a bad idea,” Tony smirked, “But someone’s gotta be in here to keep my dad at bay.”

Bruce eyed his friend over the ridge of his glasses. “And you’re claiming that you’re more trustworthy than he is?”

Tony was going to run and grab the phone himself, but far be it from him not to rise and defend his honor. “Hey, I helped make it. Like Hell I’m letting anyone fuck it up when I’m invested in the potential outcome.”

The other teen clicked his tongue; he didn’t really believe Tony’s puritanical cover-up-- in fact he could see the corners of his friend’s mouth quivering in a way that suggested he was trying very, very hard not to smile-- but Bruce decided to let it slide and let Tony have his moment of mischief. Besides, it would be way more fun to catch him in the act. “Okay. I’ll be right back,” he said, removing the car keys from his pocket.

“Awesome,” Tony replied, “Plus, I taught JARVIS a new trick recently; I’ll show you when you get back.”

That had Bruce’s attention. As much as he tried not to over-indulge his friend’s ego by seeming too eager to see every new little innovation or modification Tony made, he couldn’t lie to himself that it didn’t make a bubble push up in his chest. He nodded and left the kitchen, passing Howard in the living room on the way. The man’s nose whipped up from his magazine. “Is it done??”

“No, Mr. Stark, it’ll be another few minutes,” Bruce had to let him down.

“Killing me, boy...” Howard grumbled, snapping the magazine back up in front of his face.

The teenager chuckled and exited out the front door. He unlocked the Civic from halfway down the driveway. It wasn’t difficult to find his friend’s phone-- it was just on the passenger’s seat; it had likely slipped out of his pocket on the drive back from the grocery. Bruce picked it up. The screen lit up in reaction to his touch, displaying the last menu it had been on, the song select screen. Which made Bruce wonder...

He shut the door and locked the car, heading back up the driveway. But as he went he caved to his curiosity, scanning for the album that had been loaded onto his Christmas gift. There it was. ‘Tony: Unplugged’. “You have got to get ahold of your narcissism one of these days,” Bruce spoke aloud, shaking his head. He opened the entry, still chuckling.

And then he froze in his tracks in the middle of the driveway. Track twelve was there.

An awkward sound rose up in his throat, a little uncertain what to do. If Tony had left it off his copy, but kept it on his own... what did that mean? Had he recorded it with the intention of giving it to him, but backed out? Bruce had just _known_ it hadn’t been a mistake, that something else belonged there! The dilemma caused him to hesitate a few moments longer.

Finally he chose to back out of the menu to where the phone had been left before he picked it up. He re-entered the house and went back to the kitchen, where Tony was staring the pan down like he expected it to blink. The boy licked his lips almost desperately, not yet aware Bruce had returned. This was it... Bruce hung back, not announcing himself, holding his breath. He watched as Tony’s fingers curled around the handle of the lid and began to lift... and then he slammed it back down forcefully, yanking back his hand. Bruce cleared his throat.

“I didn’t do it, I swear!” Tony shouted, hopping backwards as his arms swung up to shield himself.

The other teen chuckled. “No, you were just letting some of the steam out, right?” he supplied an excuse for his friend.

“No really. I was tempted. Oh _God_ was I tempted. But I _didn’t_ ,” Tony defended. “I deserve a medal for not cracking under that much pressure, or double portions at the very least.”

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck, thinking to himself that he had narrowly avoided temptation himself. “Yeah. Here,” he handed Tony his phone, trying to mask the thread of guilt in his voice, “You were gonna show me a trick?” He pushed up his glasses.

Tony nodded, holding up the phone to speak into it, “Okay, JARVIS, dim the lights.”

“Yes, sir,” the device responded cordially.

Bruce thought Tony was being dramatic until the overhead canister lights in the kitchen actually dimmed. “Kitchen TV: On,” Tony went on. “Put it on the Discovery Channel. No, cancel that; Nat Geo Wild.”

The flatscreen sprung to life, the snarl of a cheetah sounding over the speakers as the creature chased its prey across the grassy plains on-screen. It caught the impala and tore into it with its teeth. Bruce felt his head tip to the side and he lifted his hand to stroke his chin, disguising a smirk behind his fingers. Okay, impressive. Tony had written some home-automation scripts into his smartphone.

“Alright now switch to wireless video source,” Tony instructed, angling the phone towards Bruce. “You’re on TV. Do something interesting, quick!” he teased as Bruce was duplicated on the wall mounted television.

“Um...” Bruce was startled by his sudden appearance on the screen, larger than life and a bit fish-eyed. “Hi,” he settled for waving sheepishly. God, he had _none_ of his friend’s on-the-spot charm.

“Well your ratings just tanked,” Tony teased, putting his free hand to his hip. “I’d still watch though.” He clicked his tongue. “Last one. Pick some music,” Tony spoke to Bruce rather than his phone.

The teen bit the inside of his mouth. Well, it was as good a time as any, right? He cleared his throat. “JARVIS? Play ‘Count Me Out’.”

“Please specify the Band or Artist, sir.”

Bruce could see Tony’s adam’s apple bob as he swallowed nervously. His face split into a vicious smirk. “Tony Stark.”

“Right away.”

The riff twanged out from the speakers in the walls, and soon after his friend’s voice accompanied it with a metallic ring.

“So you found it,” Tony spoke over his song, scratching the back of his neck. “Did... did you like it?”

‘Like’ was a bit of an understatement. But Bruce just smiled and said, “Yeah.”

Tony’s eyes searched for a distraction, pointing in the direction of one of the scattered speakers, “This your favorite?”

Bruce shook his head. He actually wasn’t sure if he _could_ pick a favorite. Especially since... well, he was missing data... Without having listened to the twelfth track, how could he conclude _it_ wouldn't be the one he liked best? “I kind of liked them all. I wouldn’t want to pick just one to separate out from the rest,” he hinted.

“Excellent Miss America answer. Rogers would be proud,” Tony grinned, missing Bruce’s hint entirely. “But I’m glad you liked it. I was kind of iffy at first.”

“My bad,” Bruce replied, going over to check on the curry. “It _was_ a surprise. I...” he hesitated with the words on the tip of his tongue, and he forced himself to go through with them, “I think you have a great singing voice.” He blushed, especially considering said voice was still playing over the kitchen stereo.

Tony chuckled, but it was hardly proud or boastful they way it usually would be after receiving a compliment. He absently drummed on the counter with his free hand in time with the song, “Thanks. I’m glad you liked ‘em.”

“Uh huh,” Bruce vocalized, gaze still focused on his stirring. “Hey, I noticed something a little... weird though.”

“Hm?” Tony lifted his gaze from the counter to look at his friend.

“Well, the album said it had thirteen tracks. But I only counted twelve.” He set the wooden spoon down and locked eyes with him.

Tony’s drumming stopped. “Oh. Oh t-that? Probably a tagging error.” He nodded briefly as if he was agreeing with himself, turning away to fiddle with his phone, “Yeah, I must’ve miscounted when I was labeling them or something. I mean, I did put it together in a hurry.” _‘Tony, you idiot.’_ He berated himself internally.

“Ah,” Bruce responded succinctly, flicking off the burner. “Well, I guess that explains it,” he said, removing the pan from the heat. “You can tell your dad food is on, and to get a plate.” He grabbed the pot lid off the rice and fluffed the white grain inside with a fork.

Tony nodded, “JARVIS, lights.”

“If it pleases you, sir.”

“I forgot to ask,” Tony turned back around, “what did you think of JARVIS 3.0?”

“Besides brilliant?” Bruce smiled. “Though I imagine 4.0 is already formulating itself up here,” he took the excuse and opportunity to poke his friend on the noggin.

“Absolutely.” Tony grabbed Bruce’s extended arm by the wrist and pulled him inward for a quick kiss. “Full speed, no brakes...” he murmured alluringly. He was interrupted by a timely stomach rumble; he made a sheepish noise, “Excluding meals.”


	30. Chapter 30

There were barely any leftovers to speak of by the time both Tony and Howard had had their fill. It was funny to watch them aggressively fan their mouths while simultaneously stuffing _more_ in. They were enthusiastic eaters, even to the detriment of their palates. After the meal, the three of them had settled in to watch a couple episodes of ‘Modern Marvels’ on the History Channel, which both father and son felt a need to talk over whenever the impulse hit them. It would have been annoying, except Bruce thought it was cool the two of them were getting along nowadays. They’d been so awkward and standoffish at first; it was nice to see them bonding at last.

Since then, the evening had wound down almost to a close. Bruce lie on his stomach in his friend’s bed reading. He doubted he’d ever be able to establish that kind of easy rapport between him and _his_ dad. Bruce swallowed uncomfortably as the thought skewed him onto a different tangent... to the unattended room up the stairs. He looked up at his friend, who was ‘flipping’ through Flowers for Algernon on his Kindle. “Hey Tony,” he got his attention.

“Mm?” Tony grunted, lifting his head up.

“Your dad tells me you’re good at, uh... picking locks.”

“I won’t ask _when_ he told you that,” Tony snorted, shaking his head as he set the e-reader down beside him. “Did you lock your keys in your house or something? Because you’d be the last guy I’d expect...”

Bruce chuckled, remembering the page number and closing his book. “No, it’s not that. I... I wanted to get into my father’s study.” He glanced at his friend over his glasses.

“Your father’s study?” Tony raised an eyebrow, “You know, if you wanted hard liquor I’m sure my Dad might let us have a _litt_ \--”

“I’m not interested in stealing his booze, Tony,” Bruce responded condescendingly. The teen shook his head. “It’s just, last time I was up there, he had all these old things out. Really old things. Like from before I was born. Mementos. Keepsakes.”

“Oh...” Tony nodded his understanding. “Well yeah, sure. It might take a little bit of trial and error, but I should be able to manage. The lock isn’t super new, is it?”

“No, it’s the same as it’s ever been...” Bruce recalled, scratching his head.

“Deadbolts?”

“Yeah.”

Tony hummed, nodding slowly in response, “Okay. And this ‘stuff’... would it be in a safe or a cabinet with a lock?”

“Possibly. I don’t know. It was just out on his desk last I saw.” Though where it had been _before_ that, he didn’t know, since he’d never ever known his old man kept keepsakes. It could be as insecure as an old shoebox on the top shelf of the closet, or as heavily-guarded as the combo safe mounted into the wall.

“Well it might be tough, but I think I could manage.” Tony stroked his beard absently as he thought. “If there was no deadbolt, all I’d need is a credit card, but I guess I could dust off the old bump keys...” he mused aloud, pausing briefly in thought, “...that is, unless you want me to take the hinges off?”

“Uh... well, as long as we put them back on,” Bruce stuttered. Tony really _did_ know his stuff. “I mean, I don’t want him to know we were up there. If it left any evidence...”

“You’re serious about this, huh?” Tony remarked, eyebrows raising before his face morphed into a sly smirk, “I’m intrigued.”

Bruce couldn’t help that he was now smiling a little awkwardly. He knew this sort of plan wasn’t like him at all, but it was a chance to find out more about his parents’ past and if he didn’t do it now, while they were on vacation, he’d likely never get another opportunity.

“Well, worry not, Brucey boy,” Tony hopped onto the bed to sling his arm around his friend in a gesture of camaraderie and reassurance, the Artful Dodger to his Oliver Twist, “I’ll take every precaution necessary to ensure nothing gets damaged and no traces are left behind. The most important part of breaking the rules is not getting caught.”

“Have I ever mentioned what a great friend you are?” Bruce chuckled only semi-sarcastically, opening his book back up to where he’d left off.

“Not as often as you should, but I suppose I can forgive you.”

“Tomorrow morning sound good?” he asked.

“How early?” Tony pouted.

Bruce laughed out loud. “We can ‘sleep in’...” he murmured suggestively, moving in on his friend’s neck.

“Deal,” Tony managed to get in before he succumbed to the laughter that was welling up in him, arms wrapping around his friend’s torso, “God, the Hell did I do to deserve you? I need to find out and keep doing it.”

“You already are,” Bruce abandoned his book and rolled his friend over onto his back so he could slide a hand up his shirt.

Tony gazed back up at his friend, unblinking, and smiled wide as he willingly risked a minor tell, “You know, I don’t think we’re gonna get around to ‘talking’ tonight.”

Bruce let his gaze fall away from those eyes and gave a wry chuckle, a touch of guiltiness threatening to creep up in him, but it didn’t last long as he skimmed his fingertips over the other teen’s scar. “There’s always tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah,” Tony replied, arching his back as Bruce’s fingers traced his scar, trying not to feel guilty himself for putting off addressing his feelings for another day. It helped to notice how affectionate Bruce had been lately; if he didn’t think about it, he could easily forget that he didn’t already have what he wanted from Bruce. And dammit if that didn’t turn him on even more than Bruce normally did. “In the meantime...” he reached up to start lifting the hem of the shirt he’d decided looked better on Bruce than it ever did when he wore it. Bruce grinned and descended upon him.

\--

The two of them exited the ‘stang from either side simultaneously. Bruce went to go check the mailbox while Tony walked around the back of his vehicle to unlock the trunk. He lifted out his prepared toolkit, tucking it under his arm as he met his friend on the porch.

Bruce stuck the keys into the lock, turning it 180° to the open position. He glanced at the flowerpot under which all his spent butts still lay as he pushed open the door. “Remind me to grab a dustpan and take care of those on our way out,” he said.

Tony nodded, then gestured ahead, “Lead the way.”

Bruce entered and dropped the small stack of mail in the center of the dining table on his way towards the stairs. He took ahold of the rail and exhaled a breath. What they were about to do went against one of the earliest rules in his memory. Suddenly it felt like he was standing in concrete shoes, unable to lift a foot to climb the staircase ahead of him. But he had the right to know more about his parents, he told himself firmly. And he _wanted_ to know. He took one step up and teetered slightly.

Tony clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “Relax. It’s a room, not the boogieman.”

“Yeah.” Bruce adjusted his glasses, chuckling nervously. “Yeah, you’re right.” Reassured by having Tony at his back, he started up the stairs with a little more certainty... even as he put his foot to the fourth step. The memory flooded in like hot liquid metal being poured into his brain... plummeting head-first towards the tile floor below... in his desperation to halt his momentum, the five year-old him had splayed out his arms and legs... it had worked, all except for the gash the fourth step tore into his right forearm. Bruce shuddered, but the vision vanished upon lifting his foot away to place it on the next one above.

“You know, Pepper used to be afraid of the basement in her house when she was little; something about the boiler,” Tony offered conversationally and Bruce clung to the sound of his friend’s voice to keep him grounded. “I helped her get over it.”

“Oh, how’s that?” Bruce inquired, lifting an eyebrow as he looked over his shoulder at his friend.

“I convinced her to have sex down there in 8th grade,” Tony smirked and winked, “Just saying.”

The teenager gave a snort. “We’re not doing it in my dad’s study,” he said as they reached the landing.

“I didn’t say we were. I was just saying that if it would make _you_ feel better about the whole situation, then-- OW!” he was silenced by a slap to the back of the head. “The Hell was that for?” the teenager groused as he rubbed the spot where he’d been struck. Some fucking thanks for agreeing to do this.

“I said _no_ ,” Bruce reiterated with a stern gaze, not able to take this whole thing quite as lightly as his friend.

“I was kidding, geez.” Tony rolled his eyes and set his toolbox down on the floor in front of the door. “Well, not about the basement. Totally did it there.”

Bruce gave a wearied sigh, pinching at the bridge of his nose. God, was it supposed to feel like someone was hitting a hammer against the inside of his skull? He hadn’t had a headache when he woke up this morning-- where had it come from all a sudden?

“I’m gonna get to work. Go out front and take a smoke break or something,” Tony said opening up the small box and pulling out a screwdriver and his two bump keys.

“ _I’m fine_ ,” Bruce grit out.

“Fine,” Tony mirrored, rolling his eyes. It hadn’t really been a suggestion, but Bruce was obviously not taking the hint. “Hover if you gotta.” He knew he was giving the other teen attitude now, but dammit, that slap actually hurt. “But if you’re gonna be breathing over my shoulder, don’t make any noise. I need to focus.” 

Bruce set his jaw with a nod, understanding that much. He didn’t want anything to go awry. He folded his arms across his chest and went silent, allowing his friend to work.

Starting with the in-knob lock, Tony slid the bump key in. Good: no resistance. He pulled the key out less than a centimeter and turned it to the right as if he were using a regular key. The lock didn’t budge, but that was to be expected. He held the screwdriver upside down in his free hand and, while maintaining the clockwise turn on the key, used the blunt handle of the screwdriver to hammer it in. With a metallic _shink!_ , the lock turned easily. “One down...” he mumbled to himself.

Tony repeated the process with the deadbolt as Bruce watched intently, then stood up and unceremoniously opened the door, gesturing to the open doorway. “If there’s anything else you need me to unlock, just let me know,” he muttered, pulling out his phone.

_‘You’re staying out here?’_ The question formed at the back of his mouth, but went no further. Bruce nodded stiffly. “Okay. I will. Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Tony responded tersely. He stared at the screen, but made sure to keep his ears open just in case.

Bruce stood in the threshold of his father’s study and let out another shaky exhale. Tony had done just as he’d asked-- he’d gotten him in. He couldn’t and shouldn’t expect more than that. These were his inner demons, not Tony’s.

Tony raised an eyebrow at his friend’s obvious hesitation, “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

The words startled him back out of thought. “Can’t stay afraid of a room forever, right?” the teen got out with a fake croaked laugh. Though the room was hardly what he was afraid of. The study was where he’d received the majority of his physical punishment... not that his father limited his abuse to any particular room of the house (he could recall receiving a good cuffing in just about every one), but the study was isolated from the rest of the house, a fair amount of the noise from inside was muted as a result, unable to be heard from the downstairs.

“Can’t fix every problem overnight either,” Tony pointed out, “I’m right outs--” He stopped himself. God, was he really going to be this petty when Bruce might need him? He let out an aggravated sigh, “I mean, I can go in with you... like, right now if you want.”

Bruce swallowed. “M-maybe... y-yeah, maybe that’d be better...”

“I’m coming in. Just breathe.” Tony put his phone back in his pocket.

The two of them entered and Bruce tried to do as Tony suggested. They had all the time in the world, there wasn’t any rush, he reasoned; they could take their time. Bruce let himself pace in absent circles around the big desk, allowing it to soak in that he was here alone, but that it was okay. They weren’t going to get caught-- Tony had promised that.

“I need you to talk to me, okay? Tell me when something comes to mind, or when you start feeling... I dunno, anxious, nervous, scared, angry...” He whipped his head around to follow Bruce’s pacing to the other corner of the room, “Bruce?”

“Yeah. Okay,” he confirmed distractedly. His attention turned to the wall facing the door behind his father’s desk. His diplomas were there, framed and behind glass... bachelor’s, master’s, his doctorate, all inscripted with the latin ‘summa cum laude’... with highest honors. There were also a few awards for his outstanding devotion to the laboratory-- ten, twenty, twenty-five years of service. A couple old wrestling and chess tournament trophies from his years in high school sat on a shelf mounted to the same wall. Whenever Bruce had been in this room, his focus had always been on the man sitting at his desk and not the accomplishments behind him. If possible it made him feel even smaller, glaringly emphasizing what he had not yet done. His eyes fluttered to the ground.

“He expects me to be like him,” he commented, speaking at his feet.

Tony sighed, clapping a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, “That’s great for him and all, but his expectations aren’t your problem.”

Bruce grunted out an affirmative. He peered at his reflection in the glass of one of the many frames. He turned away from it to look at Tony, gesturing. “Think about it though. Mom met him at the lab.” An ‘after he’d done all this’ was implicit. Bruce shook his head. “No wonder she fell for him.”

Tony had no real answer for that, so he simply hummed neutrally.

Bruce turned to eye the desk. The mementos that had formerly been scattered across it had been boxed and returned to whatever hiding spot they’d come out of. He sighed through his nostrils, discouraged but not defeated. He began pulling open drawers one at a time, rifling through them just enough to determine what he was looking for wasn’t there and moving on. When he pulled on the handle for the bottom left drawer however, it didn’t budge, and upon closer inspection (and a glasses’ readjustment), he discovered the drawer had a small keyhole. “Tony...” he beckoned.

Tony made his way over, crouching down next to his friend to inspect the keyhole, “That’s pretty small. I don’t have any bump keys for a lock this size; pass me my bag.” Bruce got up to go grab it; once he’d handed it over, he sat back to let the other boy have his necessary space for the task ahead.

Tony pulled out a flashlight and what looked to be two paperclips, one of them bent into a tight loop at the end, and the other one bent at a slight angle near the end. He handed Bruce the flashlight, “I need you to shine that directly into the lock.”

“Ah... okay,” he took it, not sure how good of job he’d do, but Tony only had two hands. He angled the light into the small slot, keeping it steady to the best of his abilities.

Tony meanwhile inserted the looped paperclip, applying clockwise tension to ensure the lock would turn as soon as it was ready. Biting his lip, Tony inserted the second paper clip, raking it across the inside of the lock, wary for the familiar feeling of the pins inside being depressed. It took him a good two and a half minutes before the metallic _click_ cut through the concentrated silence the two had fallen into. Tony extracted the rake, using the tension clip to turn the lock the rest of the way. He stood up, leaving the tension clip inside as a reminder they had to lock it back up before they left. “You’re welcome.”

Bruce flicked off the flashlight and handed it back to Tony, nodding his appreciation as he did so. He grasped the handle once again and slowly pulled it open. There was only one thing in the velvet-lined drawer. A Ruger SR40 lying on its side with several rounds of ammunition. He heard Tony swallow awkwardly.

The boy coughed into his hand, trying hard not to be too disappointed. “Huh. Didn’t know my dad was for home defense.” He pushed the drawer back shut and sat back on his haunches. That was a bust. He kneaded his temples, trying to dispel the pressure behind his eyes. When he opened them again they fell upon the safe mounted into the wall.

Tony followed Bruce’s gaze once he’d re-inserted the rake and set the lock back into place. He shook his head, “I might be able to get into that too, but odds are it’s not in there. Probably just social security cards, deed to the house, birth certificates, passports... you know, boring shit.”

The teen nodded and got back to standing, pressing his hands into his pockets dejectedly. So that was that then. He’d broken in for nothing. “Wait, I forgot about the closet,” he realized then.

“I swear to God if he put a padlock on anything in the closet--” Tony grumbled, “No offense, but your dad is creepy secretive with his shit.”

Bruce pushed the outer door of the double sliding doors over the inner one. There was a filing cabinet and some old yearbooks and other miscellaneous items. He didn’t see anything that looked like it would contain what he was looking for. Then his eyes caught on something with a thick bound spine on the shelf above. He reached for it.

The book wasn’t as dusty as he would’ve expected considering its location; it must have been recently looked through. It took Bruce a few long moments to even register what he was now holding.

“A photo album?” Tony asked over his shoulder.

His fingers felt like they were trembling... they probably were. Photographs were a rarity in his household, he could really only remember a scant few taken at holidays, the bare minimum. But the heavy manual in his arms begged to suggest there were quite a few he’d never known were taken. And that likely the majority of them were quite old, from the slightly musty smell. Bruce took it over to the desk so he could sit, cracking it open to the first page.

He was met with the sight of much younger versions of his mother and father. From the looks of them they had to be twenty-five years younger, and the white coats they were wearing suggested they were both working at the lab. They weren’t together in any of the pictures yet, just singleton shots bent over equipment or working or whatever. Bruce flipped and quirked an eyebrow at a picture of his mom and dad sitting at opposite sides of a table that looked like it was in a break room-- they were huddled over a chessboard, competitive but friendly smiles on either of their faces. The picture beside it had them posed similarly, only they were at a picnic table in a park, and the both of them were dressed up. So this was the transition from being co-workers to dating then, Bruce concluded. His eyes narrowed down on the chess set again and then he recognized it.

The little wooden rook that had been on his father’s desk. He searched the picture harder and discovered the magnolia flower perched behind his mother’s ear in her hair. “Tony. They’re here.” He pointed. “The mementos are all here in this album. Look.”

“You found ‘em?” Tony queried, coming up to stand behind Bruce.

“Yes and no.” Bruce leaned back over the album, eyes glued to it and darting back and forth like a seek-and-find book. There was a photograph taken from a low-angle upward was his mother grasping onto a library ladder, caught mid-laugh: the library card. Another the both of them were seated in an opera house, listening to classical music: the cassette tape. The two of them waiting in line at a ticket booth, an old theatre with the hundreds of incandescent bulbs in the ceiling outside: the ticket stubs. He flipped again and again, every page revealing more and more of the trinkets he’d seen on his father’s desk... date after date after date his parents had taken together during their lengthy courtship. Every one their smiles seemed to get bigger and bigger; they got closer and closer... first holding hands, then hooked arms, to full embraces. A whimper rose up within him.

“Tony... are you seeing what I’m seeing...?” he asked in a trembling voice.

“Yeah. They look really...” he struggled to find the word.

Bruce found it for him. “Happy.”

Tony had a horrible feeling he knew where this was going, “Bruce...”

It felt like his heartstrings were being snapped one by one; he lifted a wrist to push his glasses up and wipe it across his eyes. Shouldn’t he be happy too? That they’d been so in love? And furthermore, that that love was showing signs of coming back?

“Bruce.” The hand on his shoulder tightened. When had Tony put his hand there? He reached up and twined his fingers with the teen’s, using his other hand to continue flipping-- he was just over halfway through the album now.

Finally there were wedding photos. It looked like a nice ceremony. There were dozens of faces he didn’t recognize, people from work no doubt, or other acquaintances. Bruce just dimly put names to a few family members he hadn’t seen in forever. And then came the honeymoon the pamphlet had advertised. Then buying the house they were currently sitting in, decorating it with furnishings. A couple of holidays, anniversaries, nights-out, goofing off. Every sign of what should have been a healthy, longevous marriage.

And then, finally, there was him, being cradled in his mother’s arms in the hospital room. No lead up with baby bumps or baby showers... just one page not there, the next, there. His parents were both still smiling, but the expressions looked strained, and in his mom’s case a bit nervous underneath the weariness from the delivery.

There weren’t many pictures after that. The album wasn’t even full, a few of the back pages empty, which made it clear he hadn’t just missed a second album on the shelf... this was it. He studied the few that were there, what looked like attempts to rejoice and celebrate his arrival into the family, but the passion just wasn’t there, and then they’d both seemingly just given up. Where Tony’s family album had been practically bursting after his birth, Bruce’s had dwindled into nothingness. Tears plunked down onto the tabletop.

Tony swallowed. “Bruce, listen--”

He responded in half a growl, “What, Tony?”

Tony bit his lip, flinching half a step backwards before finding his strength again and planting his feet firm, “Remember what you told me, back in the attic? It’s not your fault.”

“I changed everything,” Bruce spat down at the page open in front of him.

“Having a kid _always_ changes everything. You think things stayed the same after I was born? Last time I checked--”

There was sound logic in his friend’s words, but the emotions pressing against his heart clogged it from getting through. “They _wanted_ you!” Bruce’s voice raised as he swiveled in the chair.

Tony’s response caught in his throat. He had no idea how painful that knowledge must have been for Bruce. He fumbled for a response, “T-that doesn’t mean--”

Bruce stood and slammed the album shut on its front cover. “And you know what?” he posed, losing the battle against his rage. “They _still_ don’t want me!” He grabbed one of his father’s remaining three tumbler glasses and hurled it across the room.

Tony felt his stomach drop, flinching at the racket. He needed to get him out of the house, or at the very least out of the study. “Bruce, calm down!”

The teenager gave another yell, kicking over a large stack of books. “I don’t care if he finds out I’ve been in here! I don’t care if he throws me out of the house! Maybe then--” his fingers curled under the lip of the desk and he gave a mighty heft, spilling it onto its side-- “they can be happy again!!”

“Bruce,” Tony approached warily. This was one Hell of a mess, and he had no idea how to rectify it. He only knew the first step was getting Bruce out of the house. “Let’s go smoke, huh? Maybe get some lunch, hit the arcade? Strip club? Come on...” he pleaded, eyebrows drawn together as he laid a hand carefully on his friend’s shoulder.

Bruce gave a snort. Distractions. That’s all Tony was suggesting to him, just another damn distraction from a problem he’d caused that he was trying to run away from because he couldn’t fix it. Betty didn’t know how right she was. And the biggest distraction of all was standing right in front of him. He barked at the other teen, “Oh yeah, because that will make everything better! I’ll just forget about all this, it’ll all be juuust dandy! Well maybe that works for _you_ , Tony, but it doesn’t work for _me!_ We can do this every day for the rest of our lives, but it wouldn’t fix a fucking thing!”

“Bruce, you’re not a mistake,” he held his friend firmly by the shoulders, trembling slightly. He stared directly into his friend’s eyes, “ _I’m_ happy you’re here. _I_ want you around. Hell, if you were never born I’d probably still be down at that levee drinking myself stupid. My dad and I would still be ignoring each other. I’d never have told anyone about my arrhythmia, my mom. I’d... I’d be alone.”

The genuine sentiment had Bruce back in tears. He grabbed his friend around the neck and pulled him close, sobbing into his shoulder while he clutched at him.

Tony rubbed circles into his friend’s back. “Don’t say all that crazy shit about you not being wanted...” he chided, running a hand through Bruce’s curls, “You know how much of a snob I am about correcting people.”

Bruce brought his head up to snuffle, wiping his nose again. “Yeah? You want me?” he asked, a hint of curiosity discernible in his voice.

“Don’t be stupid; of course I do,” Tony replied, kissing his forehead.

The room was a mess, but it would wait. Bruce took Tony by the hand and began to lead him back down the stairs.

“Shouldn’t we--?” Tony began, gesturing back towards the mess, the open door, his ‘break-in kit’.

“Later,” the other teen asserted. Right now he needed to feel the other boy against him... to have that physical reassurance that he was desired. He rounded the corner and moved them down the hall into his room. He immediately took a seat on his bed and pulled Tony between his legs, kissing him roughly.

Tony flushed. Well, this was unexpected, but definitely better than having to restrain his friend. Still, it was good to make sure... “A-are you sure this is a good time?”

“How can I know you want me if you don’t show it?” Bruce posed breathily, grinding their hips together.

“Of course I want you, I just want to make sure you’re-- Oh God...” And there Bruce went again, tracing his scar. “Fuck it,” he captured Bruce’s lips. The dirtier side of his brain (because let’s face it, they were both dirty) thought it was a shame they had taken this out of the study. They remained in hungry liplock as they each fought to remove their clothes.

As soon as they were both undressed, Bruce pulled them together again, erections rubbing. He nibbled at Tony’s ear briefly, “I got some water-based lubricant; it’s in my desk. Why don’t you go get it...?”

Tony chuckled, hopping up to retrieve the bottle of KY. He passed it to Bruce and laid back on the bed, pulling his knees to his chest.

Bruce eyed him (and it was a good long look too). “Cute, but not quite what I had in mind.”

Tony’s eyebrows drew together in confusion, body relaxing, “You mean, you’re not...?”

Bruce pushed the container back into his hands. “I want to swap. I want to know what it feels like.”

Tony smirked. “Alright then, on your back.”

The teen took Tony’s place and spread his legs to either side, as Tony slicked up his fingers. Nervously, he spread a liberal amount over Bruce’s opening, taking his friend’s erection in his free hand and stroking gently. “I don’t wanna... you know, hurt you or anything...”

Bruce hummed in reaction to the touches (the one admittedly a little more foreign), but lifted his head up from his pillow to quirk an eyebrow Tony’s way. “Compared to what I just learned up there? Anything you might do will be a pin-prick. Now go on...” He let his head fall back and his eyes shut again.

Tony hummed, partially reassured by that statement, partly bothered. He exhaled loudly as he slipped a digit tentatively into Bruce. “Look, don’t think I’m gonna stop now, but I want to make sure you know I was serious up there. I’m better off with you here.... I mean, I--” Tony inhaled slowly. God, if his friend didn’t understand already...

He didn’t restrain the groan that prefaced his reply. “I know you were. I feel the same way. Just... whatever happens...” he trailed off, breathing a little heavily from the mix of emotions and physical stimulation he felt.

Tony nodded, abandoning his work for a moment just to crawl over Bruce and look him in the eye, “Whatever happens... I’m not going anywhere. You better not either.”

Bruce shook his head in confirmation, glad the other boy had understood. One day all this might be a distant memory... winter break, high school, even this weird beneficial-friends thing... but no matter how many years down the road they got, he wanted them to be looking back (and forward) together. “We stay together; side by side,” he agreed.

“Good,” Tony said before leaning down and planting a short, sweet kiss on his friend’s lips. He nibbled Bruce’s bottom lip lightly as he pulled away, returning his focus to the task earlier abandoned. Coating his fingers once again, he re-inserted his middle finger slowly. It was easier this time. “You need to make sure and tell me if I’m--”

“You’re doing fine...” Bruce assured, spine and dick going rigid for a fleeting instant. “Ah...” he recovered, sucking in a breath. “You can add another.”

Tony nodded, pulling out so he could accommodate a second finger. He pushed slowly but firmly, knowing he’d be encountering more resistance this time. He paused to wait for the muscles to adjust every so often, stopping just before his second knuckle, looking to Bruce for assurance, “Okay so far?”

The other teen nodded. The sensation of penetration wasn’t bothering him, and he was plenty focused on the nearness of his friend and the warmth coming off of him. “Pretty good, actually,” he said, reaching out to run his fingers through Tony’s hair.

“Mmm, good.” Tony slid them the rest of the way in. He let out a sigh of relief, now able to just move in and out, build up a rhythm. He tried to think of what Bruce had done the last time to prepare him, using his fingers not only to stretch but also hooking and twisting in search of that same spot that Bruce had managed to find inside him. He knew he must have at least grazed it when his friend’s fingers tightened in his hair, tugging at his scalp, and the big guy gave a low moan.

A curious smile curled his lips as he tried to repeat the same push-and-hook movement as before and find the same spot again. “Right there?” he breathed.

“Ah yeah...” Bruce’s back arched off the mattress into the motion.

Just the sight of it made Tony’s manhood stiffen. The teenager licked his lips, “I could get used to _this_ view.”

The comment made Bruce chuckle, knowing exactly the view his friend meant. “Well, I do expect you to come down here at a certain point,” he said with a lifted brow.

“Working on it,” Tony remarked pushing in and twisting once more. He needed to see that again, hear Bruce moan for him again before he entered him. He wasn’t disappointed in that regard. Tony’s question was almost a purr, “You think you’re ready now?”

The big guy gave a huffed exhale. He forced his eyes to open so he could look at his friend. “Should be.”

Tony pulled the digits out, glancing around frantically for his jeans, “Okay, condom, condom...”

“Lucky you seem to always have one of those,” Bruce commented with slight amusement, taking the moment to wriggle around in bed for a more comfortable position.

“Don’t speak too soon...” Tony mumbled more audibly than he’d meant to, standing to scour the ground for his jeans. Bruce face-palmed.

“Are you saying I did?”

The teen lifted his hands defensively. “Hey, I wasn’t expecting this. I really was joking earlier about fucking in the study.” Spotting his jeans, he quickly turned them over to get at his wallet. He pulled it out, flipping through and finding nothing. “Shit,” Tony paled, but then spotted his underwear just a stone’s throw away. He recognized the brand; he might just be in luck.

_‘Ohpleaseohpleaseohplease...’_ he prayed silently as he reached for the garment, patting it down. There it was. “Score!” he beamed as he pulled out the foil wrapped condom and tore it open.

Bruce logged away a mental note to buy his own box of prophylactics next time he was at the store. “Did you just... pull that out of your boxers?” he asked incredulously.

Tony grinned in response, “Built-in condom pocket. Man’s best friend.”

“No wonder Pepper can’t resist you,” Bruce teased, reaching out to give his friend’s ear a comparably light tweak.

Tony wasn’t sure what compelled him to say it, but he said it anyway, punctuating the statement with a kiss, “Pepper’s not here.”

Bruce kissed him back a little roughly and took the opportunity to respond with a firm, “Good.”

Tony chuckled, rolling the condom down over his arousal, “Jealous.”

“Shut up,” Bruce said good-naturedly, slapping him on the rump.

Tony yelped a little, but his grin didn’t falter, taking up his place at the foot of the bed again. “It’s okay if you are. Hell, it’s kind of cute.”

Bruce gave a dismissive snort. “Just get on top of me already. You’re too far away.” The request was as close to a complaint as he ever made.

Tony’s throat gave a feral rumble and he positioned himself at Bruce’s entrance, holding himself straight as he pushed in carefully. He placed his other hand on Bruce’s thigh, squeezing lightly. “Oh fuck...” he bit his lip as the head passed through warm, tight muscle. He looked to Bruce for the go-ahead, “Okay?”

The teenager beneath him splayed his limbs across the bed, spine twisting for a brief moment before making a sudden grab for his hipbones. Tony blinked, about to repeat the question when Bruce pulled, forcing him in deeper. White marks began to appear in the flesh under his fingertips as he pulled their pelvises flush.

“Fuck!” Tony groaned, throwing his head back. For a brief moment he almost lost it then and there. “God, you love it more than I do...” he hissed incredulously, leaning over his friend so he could have the closeness he’d practically demanded.

Bruce just seemed content to have his friend as physically close as possible, releasing the hard grip he’d had on Tony’s hips to now trail his hands up and down the expanse of his back. “Need more data...” he mumbled, planting his nose in the other boy’s neck to nip and kiss.

Tony couldn’t help but chuckle at that remark, his breath tickling Bruce’s neck at such close proximity, rolling his hips slowly to get used to the feeling. “You are such a nerd. I fucking love it.”

Bruce chuckled back, but the sound was quickly swallowed up by a moan. He continued to cling to the other teen’s lean form as he thrust in and out of him, building motion between them. He didn’t know ‘how good’ it necessarily felt for Tony when he was on the receiving end, but he certainly couldn’t complain about the pleasant shockwaves coursing through his body each time his friend bucked. He’d need more than that to cum, but he was willing to give it some time and enjoy what they were doing for now.

Tony did his best to hold back, trying to last as long as he could for Bruce but still give his friend the friction he needed. He hadn’t expected it to feel this amazing, and he knew it had just as much to do with the person underneath him as it did with the novelty of the act itself. He allowed his hands and mouth to wander... touching, stroking, groping, kissing, biting and licking anything he could reach; he wanted to rediscover the man below him, to please each and every nerve ending. The thought brought him dangerously close, but he held his ground; Tony wanted to see his partner climax, to think that he was the only one who could _make_ him feel this way.

Bruce gave a hum, noticing how much more active his friend had gotten. “Really getting into this, aren’t you?”

“Better not be the only one,” Tony growled possessively, dipping down to suck and nibble at Bruce’s throat, “I want to see you cum.”

Tony’s eyes were practically glazed over with lust. “Then you better slow down a little and...” Bruce took his friend’s hand and guided it to the erection between their bodies in suggestion. He’d gotten familiar with the signs that told him Tony was skirting the edge.

Tony chuckled, feeling silly for not having noticed before. “Right.” He took Bruce’s erection in his hand, reaching back for the lube with the other. He let go for a brief moment to squeeze a dollop into his hand and went back to work. He buried himself fully inside Bruce and began to stroke.

A flush began to crop up on his face, spreading down along his neck and down to his chest as Tony worked at him, cock deeply submerged inside him. Bruce groaned a little louder-- they had the whole house to themselves and no one to hear them. “Yeah...” he encouraged, squirming again, “that’s more like it...”

“Yeah?” It was far from an excellently worded question, but it was all that Tony could manage to ask, and all the affirmation he really needed as he pumped his fist harder and faster around Bruce’s swollen arousal, twisting at the tip ever so slightly.

“Yeah...” Bruce echoed, and dammit if it wasn’t the sexiest thing Tony could ever remember hearing.

“Fuck, I _want_ you...” Tony crooned in his ear, wrist pumping harder with each breath. His friend had asked him the question before, and Tony was going to make sure Bruce never forgot his answer, “I want you all the time. I never _stop_ wanting you.”

The teen bit his bottom lip, fingers sliding up into Tony’s hair to tighten their grasp. It felt really good to hear those words... to feel wanted on a physical level as well as an intellectual one. He _needed_ to hear those words. “Yeah. I feel the same way about you...” he got out. Slowly he lifted his feet up from the mattress and wound his legs around the young man above him.

Unable to restrain himself any longer, Tony’s hips swayed back into motion. He leaned in to steal a heated kiss before doubling his efforts on the teen who lay writhing beneath him. He stared down at his lover, eyes half lidded and drunk with need, teetering on the edge of release even as he pleaded it of his partner, “Cum for me.” _‘Only me.’_

“Tony...!” he called out his friend’s name in a pinched tone, face screwing up. He really was close now, evidenced by his labored, shaky breathing. He buried his face in the crook of the other’s shoulder, the rest of his body taut and clinging to that of the boy above him.

“Yeah, c’mon, big guy...” Tony growled out huskily, not stopping or slowing for anything. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer now. The only thing he was holding out for was Bruce. He wanted to see Bruce finish, and he clung to that desire obsessively, “Cum for me...”

Bruce gave one last gasping groan as he spilled out across his stomach, hips jerking with each little convulsion of his groin. Pleasure seared through him for just a couple more seconds and then his brain fell into an unrecognizable haze, his grip slackening.

Tony took in the sight before him with greedy eyes, relinquishing Bruce’s manhood and allowing his hand to roam the other teen’s body for the last few seconds he had left in him. He planted it fast on top of his friend’s chest as his muscles clenched and he came, riding it out with ruts and moans. He leaned down into one last kiss before pulling out and collapsing on top of his partner. “God, Bruce...” he groaned; his muscles all felt like they were still twitching.

It took a little while for his faculties to return. Bruce waited until it seemed like Tony had managed to catch his breath, reaching up to rake his hand through the other teen’s sweat-slicked hair. “Well, that seemed alright,” he commented calmly, figuring such an understatement would cause a rather amusing reaction from his friend.

Tony rolled off of his friend, glaring, “Fuck you again; that was the best thing ever.”

The teen couldn’t help it, he let out a belly-laugh that lasted probably longer than any laugh he’d ever made. His sides were heaving, but when he finally recovered he pressed a kiss to Tony’s nose. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”

Tony snorted, swatting at his friend’s arm, “Speaking of angry... we probably should fix up the study before we leave.”

“Oh God...” Bruce gave a groan, pushing down on his face with his palm with a sinking feeling. The fact that he couldn’t remember what he’d done up there didn’t make him feel any better. “I destroyed it, didn’t I?”

Tony pulled Bruce close to his chest. “We can fix it. He’s not gonna miss one whiskey glass.”

He hoped Tony was right. “Okay, let’s go take a look,” he said, clambering out of bed and snagging his pants.

“Hey, hey. What’s the rush?” Tony groaned, rolling on his side to reach weakly after his friend, “Come back to bed...”

Bruce frowned. “I’d just as soon know what I did.” He slipped a leg into the trousers.

Tony gave a mildly frustrated sigh, lips sputtering petulantly at the end. It was like Bruce didn’t grasp the concept of ‘post-coital’ anything. Still, it was adorable in it’s own way. “Fine, we can go, but just... try not to get down on yourself about it. If you get moody, I’ll get moody, and then I’ll end up breaking something for solidarity’s sake. You don’t want that, do you?”

Bruce wasn’t really listening as he buttoned his shirt. He gave a mumble of recognition and disappeared into the hall.

Tony worried his lip, hopping out of bed. He hurriedly dressed himself and followed.

Bruce surveyed the floor now strewn with several books and objects from the top of his father’s desk. Nothing broken, except the one glass like Tony had said. With any luck the man would simply not realize he hadn’t broken it himself. “Well, could be worse,” he commented to his friend.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Tony replied, exhaling in relief to see Bruce seemed relatively unfazed. He crossed the room to crouch down by the overturned desk, retrieving his bag and inspecting the floor while he was down there. “Doesn’t look like you even left any scuff marks. Lucky.”

Bruce nodded, pacing the room again. The scare was over; his father wouldn’t be any the wiser of their trespass. He looked towards his friend, taking a seat on the sideways desk. He felt a confession bubbling up inside him, something he’d never told the other boy. “You know what really concerns me most when this happens?”

“Hm?” Tony murmured, picking his head up.

“I don’t even remember it. Like what I did, or how long it lasted. It’s like it’s not there.” He rubbed aggressively at his head.

“You mean like, you black out?” Tony tried.

“I guess.” Bruce nibbled worriedly at the inside of his mouth. “You think... there’s something wrong with me?” He’d asked himself that so many times without ever having an answer, but if Tony had an answer, he could trust his friend’s judgement.

Tony pondered the question silently for a good minute, thinking back, “You were protecting yourself from a perceived threat. Sounds like basic human nature to me.”

“Protecting??” Bruce questioned the word choice. “Tony, I flipped a table over some old photographs because I didn’t like them, not because they were some kind of ‘threat’ to me. The only time I ever actually _protected_ anyone by... by...” he gestured in frustration as he searched for a word to describe his episodes, “ _exploding_ was at the bonfire and that guy had y...” he fell silent.

“You saved me a trip to the ER,” Tony replied, his voice dead serious. “If you hadn’t been there--” Tony stopped himself. He really didn’t want to think about how close he’d come to going back under the knife. Part of him still blamed himself for much of what had transpired that night. He wasn’t going to make Bruce feel better by making himself feel worse.

“But that was only _one_ time,” the teen argued. It ended up being a good thing he’d lost it, but a single good incident couldn’t absolve him of every bad one, past, present and (undoubtedly) future.

“That night after I came back from the emergency room, when you came by with my file?” Tony closed his eyes-- he could still remember that night; it had been a real head trip-- “I told you about my heart problem, and I told you I’d be willing to listen to you bitch and moan every once in a while.” Tony chuckled, “You didn’t like that. You started attacking my integrity and twisting my words, so I called you on it and all that other petty bullshit you pulled when we first started getting to know each other.” Bruce blinked at him.

Tony opened his eyes, shooting a questioning glance his friend’s way, “You remembering any of this? I pretty much verbally castrated you,” he recalled, voice lacking the boastful quality it would have taken on had he been talking about anyone else.

“And I pummelled your face. Tony, come on--”

“No, no, that was later on. I was yelling at you, and then you started to break down. You got all wild eyed and scared, like you thought I was gonna hurt you or something.”

Bruce’s face screwed up. “I did...?”

“You told me to leave you alone, and you just... ran. You tried to scale the gate.” Tony ran a hand through his hair, “I had no idea where you were running to, whether you’d be safe. For all I knew you could’ve been heading into freeway traffic, so I...” he swallowed, “I managed to trip you to the ground, and you passed out a little bit after that. I dumped you in the bed in the guest room and...” Details were practically pouring out of his lips now, and he could hardly stop himself, “And you were talking in your sleep. You clung onto me and wouldn’t let me leave the bed. You were like a scared kid who needed his mom.”

Hearing it all laid out in front of him only made Bruce question his sanity more. _All_ of this had transpired without him even realizing it? He shook his head, wishing he could remember it with the clarity Tony described it.

“Something I said, or how I said it, made you feel like you were in danger; like some kind of psychological trigger.”

“Yeah.” Bruce let his hands travel up to hug at his arms. The room they were in was starting to feel oppressive again. He stood up. “Let’s get this cleaned up,” he determined, putting his back into righting the desk back onto its feet.

Tony picked the photo album up from where it lay on the floor, “And these photos may not have represented a physical threat, but they certainly threatened your perception of your own family dynamic.” He put it back on the top shelf of the closet. It made sense. If Bruce could live his life in the belief that his parents’ relationship had _always_ been in turmoil, then it was harder to blame himself for the way things were now. In that moment of vulnerability, self-loathing must have risen to the surface and taken over. In the end, he was just trying to protect himself and the things that meant something to him. It made Tony wonder how deep Bruce’s scars were that they affected him on such a subconscious level. He felt a growing urge to knock Brian Banner’s fucking lights out.

Bruce nodded silently as he returned the lamp to the desk and fixed the lampshade. His friend had a point there. There may not be an explanation for why his memory lapsed during episodes, but there was an explanation for what triggered them.

“It’s not your fault,” Tony said firmly, placing a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, “None of it is.”

He accepted those words this time. “Thanks for being there for me. Today and... back then.”

“Anytime,” Tony replied, and meant it. Still, he knew the loyalty wasn’t one-sided, “And you too, big guy.” Tony’s hand on Bruce’s shoulder was still the only contact the two had, but in that moment they were the closest they had ever been.


	31. Chapter 31

The next few days were spent thoroughly enjoying their after-Christmas break. They spent a couple of those days dedicated to putting the starkit up on the ceiling of Tony’s bedroom (though that wasn’t the only place the glow-in-the-dark paint ended up). It look a few ‘stages’ of applying and drying-- first major constellations, then noteworthy stars, after that speckles for random stars in the galaxy, and finally a watered-down sponge application for the Milky Way... all of which Bruce was very particular and enthusiastic about explaining as they went along, but Tony didn’t mind one bit listening to the loveable dorkiness his friend had put on display. It was the trade-off for his own geeking out about circuits when they put together the robotic arm. Though after the little robot fumbled and dropped several items with its rotating pinchers, both agreed to name it DUM-E (Defective Unit: Manually Erratic).

And just like that the end of 2012 drew near. Bookclub was the morning of the 31st, and afterwards Betty invited both boys over to her place to watch some of When We Left Earth. Getting them both in the door and past her father almost couldn’t have been easier-- one randomly-placed smooch on Bruce’s cheek from Tony’s lips was all the more Mr. Ross needed to see to ‘confirm their disinterest’ in his daughter and Tony couldn’t stop laughing afterwards, much to Bruce’s utter embarrassment.

As they were leaving, Tony was sure to remind Betty about the party scheduled at seven-thirty.

“So you’ll be there, right?”

The girl nodded. “Yup. Me and Leonard both,” she confirmed.

“Sweet.” Tony shot her a winning smile, adding two more RSVP’s to the mental tally in his head.

“See you both then,” Bruce smiled and she looped her arms around him in a hug. He couldn’t help but take the opportunity to sneak in a peck on her neck while she was unsuspecting. She chastised him and pushed him away with a laugh, cupping her fingers over the place his lips had been. Tony noticed, but didn’t say anything, committing his hands to his pockets and rocking forward and back on his feet. Instead, he chose to wait until they were alone and in the car to mark the same spot on Bruce’s neck with his teeth.

“Hey hey,” Bruce stopped him. As much as he was enjoying the sudden affection, he didn’t want his friend leaving too large of a question-inducing bruise. “Weren’t we going somewhere?” he asked.

“Yeah, we need to get snacks,” Tony rolled his eyes, “But we gotta swing by and pick someone up first.”

The other boy seemed suddenly grumpy; Bruce regarded him questioningly. “Oh? Who’s that?”

Tony spoke his answer through grit teeth, “Rogers.” He still couldn’t _believe_ their parents had put them up to this.

“You invited Steve to your New Year’s party?” Bruce inquired incredulously.

“Fuck no,” Tony shot back defensively, “But, you know, Dad’s spending New Years with Steve Senior and his wife Peggy and all _their_ friends, and so I guess the trade-off was that Junior’s spending New Years here.” Tony sat up straight and puffed out his chest, lowering the pitch of his voice, mockingly, “‘It’s high time you boys stopped acting like a pair of kids and start getting along.’. That’s what he said. God, it’s like he _wants_ to ruin everything.”

Bruce pursed his lips. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” he tried to reassure his friend, but it didn’t sound like he fully believed himself.

“Yeah, well, if I’d been told before this morning I would have picked up the beer yesterday. Can you imagine taking _that_ guy to a liquor store? ‘Umm Tony, that’s non-alcoholic beer right?’” Tony whined in what was likely a poor impression of Steve Jr. himself, “‘Because the legal drinking age is nyeh nyeh nyeh--’ Oh, fuck you.”

Bruce laughed out loud at his friend’s impersonation of their goody-too-shoes school president.

“Which brings me to your special assignment,” Tony shifted topics as he idled at a red light, leaning over to pop open the glove compartment and fumble around inside. “Your mission, should you choose to accept it,” he plucked out a glossy card, handing it to Bruce, “is to get the beer while I keep Martha Washington distracted.”

The mischievous grin that stole over the other teen’s features as he took the counterfeit I.D. was enormous. “You really got me one,” he stated, trying to mask his inherent excitement. He flipped it over in his fingers a few times to compare it to his current driver’s license. All of it was identical except for one thing-- his date of birth, which was four years before his own... 1991.

“I think you’re ready,” Tony said in a too-serious voice, eyes turning back to the road, shifting back into gear as the light turned green. After a short pause, the corner of his mouth quirked up briefly, “Oh and Bruce?”

“Hm?”

“I just want to tell you good luck... and we’re all counting on you.”

Bruce gave a snort at the ‘Airplane!’ reference and shoved his friend lightly, “Just make sure you don’t develop a ‘drinking problem’.”

“Oh, dammit, now I wanna actually watch it!” Tony groaned, once his chuckles subsided. “I wonder if Miss America has a copy on her DVD shelf.”

“Maybe,” Bruce removed his wallet from his back pocket to slide the fake I.D. over the real one so he could flip it out when he got to the checkstand. “How do you intend to keep him busy?”

“I’ll figure something out,” Tony shrugged, “Hopefully it won’t involve actually having to talk to him.” He kicked in the clutch as they pulled up to the curb in front of the Rogers’ yard-- perfectly manicured lawn, white-picket fence, a flagpole proudly waving the stars and stripes; it was a wonder there wasn’t a fresh baked apple pie sitting on the windowsill. Notably, the tinsel explosion from before Christmas had been tidied up. Tony was tempted to just honk his horn. Hell, he was tempted to just drive away.

Bruce opened his door and moved to get out. “You coming?” he asked, noting the sour expression riddling his friend’s face.

Tony sighed, “Yeah, I’m coming. I just have to keep reminding myself that he doesn’t want to do this any more than I do.”

“Best of a bad situation, right?” Bruce offered as the two of them walked up the driveway and to the porch. He lifted his hand and knocked on the door.

“You know, it’s not too late to turn around and--”

Almost immediately a barking sounded from inside the domicile, along with the rushing of pawed feet on a solid floor. “Bucky, quiet down!” the two heard Steve’s muffled voice. The barking was temporarily replaced with a whine and the door unlocked, opening to reveal the blond boy. “Oh. You’re here.”

Tony leveled a stony glare back at Steve, “Were you expecting Lady Liberty?” He gave Steve’s get-up the up-and-down with his eyes. He cringed internally. A paisley-- fucking _paisley_ button up, a pair of jeans that stopped at the ankle, bringing the eye’s attention directly to...

_‘Oh my fucking God...’_ Tony felt his eyebrow twitch. Penny loafers and white fucking socks. He was letting this into his _house?_ “Are you really wearing that to a New Years party? Or did you need to swing by and pick up your Country Music Award first?”

Steve’s face rearranged into a glower and from out behind him popped another familiar face-- Phil Coulson. “For your information, I think he looks quite handsome.” Bucky, the yellow lab, gave a bark of agreement, his muzzle pulled back into a wide smile that showed his black gums.

The compliment made Steve blush just a tad. “Uh, thank you, Phil,” he acknowledged, causing his admirer to beam.

“Phil?” Tony quirked an eyebrow at the boy in the black suit coat and slacks, “The Hell’re you doing at Steve’s?”

“I invited him to the party. I assume that’s ‘within my rights’,” Steve took an unmoving stance in the doorway.

Bruce, who had been standing silently on the sidelines, spoke up in attempt to mediate. “Yeah, that’s fine. We just need a tally to make sure we have enough snacks for everyone.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony rolled his eyes, “Welcome to the club, Phil.” He added another tally-mark.

“Thanks,” Coulson nodded, stepping around the two teens who were currently at-odds. There was a confident gleam in his eye that practically read ‘Rogers: 1, Stark: 0’. Steve called in to his parents that he and Phil were going now and gave Bucky’s furry head a pet goodbye. The dog gave a happy bark and wag of its tail before turning to bound back inside-- at least _someone_ was well-behaved out of the five of them, Bruce thought.

They piled into the mustang, Phil and Steve in the back. The latter spoke up after a moment of searching to either side of himself. “Tony, where are the seatbelts?” There was a suspicious lilt in his voice.

“Oh shit; I left them at home again,” Tony swore, slapping the steering wheel, “Bruce, you were supposed to remind me! I guess I’ll just have to avoid _crashing_ this time.”

Bruce couldn’t help but chuckle discreetly into his sleeve, but Steve didn’t look particularly impressed by Tony’s snarky reply. “Just be careful,” he mumbled, folding his arms across his chest.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Rogers. I live like three blocks away.” Tony rolled his eyes as he pulled away from the curb, “Shit, if it weren’t for our dads, I would just tell you to hoof it... with all due respect.”

The high school president’s eyes were focused on the neighborhood as it rushed by. “Yeah, well, maybe walking wouldn’t be so bad. At least it builds good character.”

“Now I know that wasn’t a mosquito buzzing in my ear,” Tony chuckled dangerously, “So you must have been talking about me.”

“Well not everything that makes up a decent human being can be inherited from Daddy.”

“Oh, that’s fucking rich, coming from a guy who grew up with _two_ \--”

“Uhh, Tony, Steve...” Phil attempted weakly. “That’s really enough.”

“Yeah, give it a rest,” Bruce echoed wholeheartedly. There was no way he wanted to be listening to his friend and the school poster boy arguing all night.

Tony’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, “Fine.”

Steve’s jaw set. “Yeah. Fine.” The two of them lapsed into broody silence that was nearly as difficult to listen to as the arguing had been. Thankfully, it was only two blocks more.

“Alright so we’re dropping you two off at the house and I’m sending Bruce off to grab snacks,” Tony explained.

“What are we having?” Phil piped in, looking a little embarrassed, “I have food allergies, and...”

Tony exhaled slowly. “Well, did either of you make a list?”

“Well, no, we just assumed we’d all be doing the groceries together,” Steve responded.

“Oh my G-- fine,” he cut his exclamation short. “Let’s just all swing by the store then.” He gave Bruce a knowing look, who looked back over the ridge of his glasses. It would have been so much easier to leave their guests at his place while they made the beer run. Oh well. He’d just have to keep the other two distracted while Bruce snuck off for beer. How hard could that be?

\--

The grocery store was teeming with people doing the same thing as them-- purchasing for a New Year’s celebration. Bruce tucked the wad of bills Tony had surreptitiously slipped into his hand into one of his pockets. He walked along uncertainly beside the other three. “So, uh...” he vocalized, not really sure how to split off from them with invoking suspicion.

“Oh by the way Bruce, your mom texted me. She wants you to call her and check in,” Tony remarked as if he’d just remembered. “You might wanna go outside, though. Signal’s crap in here.” He discreetly slid the keys into Bruce’s palm as he leaned in to give him a pat on the shoulder, “Stay warm.”

“Oh,” Bruce feigned surprise. “Okay, I better do that. Catch you guys in a few.” He pulled out his phone and headed back out the automatic doors. _‘Nicely played.’_ he texted to Tony, impressed, as usual, by his innate cleverness.

Tony smirked at the message and, slipping the phone back into his jeans, led the remaining teens to the soda aisle. “Alright, so punch or no punch?” He snorted at his own statement, “God is that even a question?”

“Depends, are you planning to spike it?” Steve asked disapprovingly.

“Do you have a bowl to serve it in?” Coulson asked helpfully as he began to take two-liters off the shelf.

“Shut up, Steve,” Tony grumbled, “And of course we have--”

“Foul, contemptible boar of a man...” a familiar voice rumbled from somewhere behind him, accompanied by the sounds of various items being tossed violently into a shopping cart, “To think that I share blood with such a-- a hateful wretch--!” Tony turned around and spotted none other than Thor, though something about his appearance was off...

“Thor, did you cut your hair?” Coulson asked before Tony had put his finger on it.

The football player stood up straight in alarm, relaxing upon the sight of his good friends, though the query posed did little to sweeten his disposition. “I do not wish to speak of it,” he replied guardedly.

Tony quirked an eyebrow, not seeing what the big deal was. “It doesn’t look _that_ bad.”

“I like it; it looks good on you,” Steve imputed.

Thor grit his teeth, spitting back his answer, “It is an abomination.” He slowly purged his lungs of his bitter breath, softening his gaze, “Though I value your words of reassurance, friends. Perhaps one ‘morrow I shall again look upon my mirror’s image in glory.”

“You’re glorious with or without it, in my eyes, Theo,” Steve stepped forward to place his hand down upon the other teen’s muscular shoulder like the supportive student president he was. Here he went with that pep-talk crap again, Tony thought, rolling his eyes for the umpteenth time (if he kept doing it, they were liable to roll right out of his head). Steve went on, “Glory is calculated not by vanity but by valiantness. And you show that out on the field, win or lose. You make the whole school proud to be Bilgesnipes.”

Thor felt his eyes begin to water a little, a tickle in his nose. “You truly stand by those words, Steve?”

“I do,” the boy nodded.

Tony couldn’t help but feel just a bit cheated. After all, Thor was still having difficulty not calling him ‘Sir Anthony’. What the Hell made Steve so special he got the first-name basis treatment? Then again, who _hadn’t_ Steve won over in his lifetime? Everybody loved Steve. Tony rolled his eyes and checked his phone for texts. Best not to get on that train of thought.

Thor placed a firm hand on the other’s shoulder, “My deepest gratitudes.”

“Are we doing Cherry 7-Up or Sierra Mist?” Phil broke in, pointedly ignoring the exchange between the two blonds. He held one bottle of each up at Steve, tilting his head.

Phil’s question got his attention; the boy looked from one to the other as if giving them equal consideration. “Well I vote 7-Up,” Steve said, “What about the rest of you?”

“7-Up. But only because I want Cherry,” Tony quickly added, obviously too stubborn to simply agree with Rogers. He didn’t have to ask to know Phil’s choice: It was obvious now that Steve had made his pick. “Well I guess it’s unanimous.”

“The three of you are... preparing a feast?” Thor questioned.

“Yeah, something like that,” Tony shrugged. He tilted his head at the contents of Thor’s cart (mostly Poptarts and pork rinds). “You too?”

“Aye! Tonight I dine alone,” Thor replied coldly, or at least as coldly as a guy like Thor could muster.

“Family trouble?” Tony guessed.

Thor’s eyes narrowed, “I do not wish to sp--”

“Speak of it,” Tony interjected knowingly. “Yeah yeah, your voice ‘ring-eth’ loud and clear.” And then a thought hit him, “Well, if you want--”

“You know, you could--” Steve and Tony stopped mid-sentence and looked at each other. For one rare, shining moment they agreed on something.

Tony scratched the back of his head, “I’m having a New Years Party tonight at seven-thirty. If you wanna come...”

“...We’d be happy to have you over,” Steve finished.

“And bring some friends if you want,” Tony added before he could stop himself. It was hard not to feel sorry for the poor guy, whatever had gone down in his life. Theodore’s formerly ‘kicked-puppy eyes’ immediately lit up, a joyous grin slowly cracking his face in two. “Oh sweet Jesus...” Tony muttered when he realized what he’d done. He’d forgotten how these things usually went. Coulson took a quick step backwards out of crushing range, but Steve and Tony weren’t so lucky.

“Greatest friends, how will I ever repay this debt?!” Thor gushed as he embraced his companions with vigor. Steve and Tony both grimaced at the proximity it forced them into, their cheeks practically touching for a moment before they pushed against one another’s chests with their hands to get some much-needed space within the confines of the football player’s strong arms.

“You could start by putting them down,” Coulson suggested with a glare (and it was really no secret why, since anyone at school could tell you Phil never liked it when anyone got too physically close to his admiree). He went back to loading Hawaiian Punch and 7-Up into the cart, “People are staring.”

Thor did so and Steve found himself chuckling at the now-short-haired-blond’s eagerness. “It’s no ‘debt’ at all, Theo. It will be great to have you there; maybe we can throw around the old pigskin in the yard.”

“Aye! I look forward to it with great elation!” Thor beamed his response, pounding his chest in enthusiasm. “I bid you all fond farewell until the hour of merriment is upon us, Son of Coul, Sir Anthony,” he paused for barely a breath, “Friend Steve.”

\--

Once Bruce was certain the other three were far enough into the store to remain out of line of sight, he grabbed a shopping cart and headed back inside, wheeling it towards the liquor aisle. He walked down it as casually as possible, eying the hundreds of options before him... not just beer but wines too and higher-alcohol content drinks like vodka and whiskey. _‘Anything I should grab in particular?’_ he inquired.

_‘Some of everything. Beer, wine coolers, hard liquor, moonshine, whatever. Just make sure there’s more than enough to go around.’_

Bruce began by grabbing a couple twenty-four packs of each domestic and imported beer, sliding them into the bottom part of the cart. As he took a box of each flavor of Mike’s Hard Lemonade from the refrigerated shelf, he noticed a sale tag on another brand. _‘Smirnoff Ice is on sale.’_ he noted with a send-poke of his thumb.

Tony’s emphatic response came back. _‘YES. Stock up.’_

“Well well, what do we have here?”

Bruce realized the words were directed at him and turned around. It was Natasha and her on-again-off-again boyfriend, Clint (currently on though, from the looks of it). Bruce bit the inside of his mouth. This was trouble just waiting to happen. Those two couldn’t keep their noses out of anyone’s business. The girl stopped in front of him and put her hands on her hips. He instinctually backed up as if to hide the cart and its contents behind him (because standing in the liquor aisle _totally_ didn’t give him away). “I, um...”

Distracted by Natasha, Clint sprung around behind him before he could stop him. The sharp-eyed boy raked his gaze up the goods and gave a mighty whistle. “I’d say someone’s getting ready for one Hell of a party!” He began shuffling through the bottles.

“Oh yeah, and just how would he do that, Clint?” the crimson redhead inquired of her compatriot, “He’s not twenty-one.” Bruce turned to try and wave Barton away from the shopping cart, which was when the foxy female slipped her hand effortlessly into his back pocket and withdrew his billfold. She unfolded it and pursed her lips when she saw what was inside, “Oh wait, maybe I misspoke.”

“What is it? What is it?” Clint cawed, vaulting over the cart to come to her side.

“Have a look,” Natasha smiled cheekily as he peered over her shoulder.

“Oh ho ho, Banner’s got a phoney I.D.!” Clint said, far too loud for Bruce’s liking.

“Give that back,” he growled, though he was in no position to bargain with his two schoolmates...

Natasha shrugged carelessly and offered his wallet out in her fingertips; he snatched it away and stuffed it back in his pants. Hopefully they’d had their fun now and would move on. Bruce turned from them both and tried to go back to filling his cart. Natasha’s hand stopped his before he could even lift the next 6-pack.

“Oh now, not so fast. Clint and I appreciate secrecy,” she shrugged her shoulder and the boy grinned like a buffoon beside her, “but in return for us not blowing your cover, we want to know where and when this big party is...” she stuck her forefinger into his face.

Bruce went cross-eyed momentarily, focused on the digit. He coughed and backed up, pushing up his glasses. “I’m pretty sure you’re not invited,” he tried to remain unyielding.

“Oh, so it’s not _your_ party?” Clint made the connection-- he’d once again climbed up to perch on the handle of the shopping cart and it was squeaking under his weight. “Nat, it’s not his party!” he echoed back to her, his blue eyes wide. Bruce tried to keep his teeth from grinding.

“Let me take a wild swing...” the redhead pushed out her hip, “It’s Tony Stark’s party. Isn’t it?”

Bruce kept his mouth shut, but it was at that instant that his phone decided to vibrate again. Clint heard it and just like that, the boy had nabbed it off his person. Bruce made a noise of protest as the other teenager scrolled through the recent text conversation. “I think _this_ confirms it,” he displayed the message to the girl.

She read it off the phone, “ _‘How much longer do you need to get the beer?’_. Mhm. So we can only presume he’d be having it at his house. The only question remaining is...” her eyes bored into Bruce’s, “ _when_ does it start?”

His resistance was beginning to fade; it seemed like the two of them would eventually find out anyway, so he didn’t know why he was still bothering to try and hide it.

“Don’t think we’ll hesitate to send the authorities your way, should you not comply,” Natasha warned.

“We _so_ will,” Clint tacked on like her trained parrot.

Bruce sighed in resignation. “It starts at seven-thirty.”

The two of them brightened. Barton sidled up to the dejected teen and gave him a sharp elbow to the side. “We were just yanking your chain, Banner; we wouldn’t have _actually_ ratted you out.”

“But thank you for your cooperation,” Natasha delivered with a smug air. She turned on her heel and made for the end of the aisle.

“See you at the party!” Clint waved and they both vanished from sight. Bruce groaned and returned to filling his cart.

\--

Tony, Steve and Phil found Bruce waiting outside, the teen looking petulant and lips glued to his cigarette.

“Banner! Are you smoking?” Steve started.

“And you didn’t wait for me?” Tony smirked, bumping past Steve as he closed the distance to stand across from his friend. He lifted a single forefinger, then held his hand out, “One, please.” Bruce wordlessly removed the pack from his pocket, drew back the flap and let Tony have his pick from the brand-new pack he’d bought at the checkout just minutes prior. Tony lit up quickly, taking up a spot right next to his friend on the wall.

Steve gaped at the two of them. “Are you both aware that according to the Surgeon General--” he was cut off by a lungful of smoke blown directly in his face, “Okay, now that’s just inappropriate, Tony. Your health is your own decision, but second hand smoke has been shown to kill.”

“You seem pretty alive to me,” Tony snarked back. Steve huffed, folding his arms and Phil mimicked the motion.

Bruce plucked his vice from his lips to speak. “Sorry, Steve,” he exhaled away from the two non-smokers. “I just do it occasionally to keep calm,” he explained, though not proudly.

Tony’s back straightened. That statement begged the question. “Did something happen?”

Bruce wheezed into his hand a moment before he could answer. “You have a couple more guests attending now.” _‘At minimum,’_ he thought, readjusting the placement of the cigarette in his mouth.

“Thor bump into you on the way out?” Tony asked, eyebrow raised.

Bruce shook his head. “Nat and Clint,” he muttered under his breath. “They kind of... inferred and invited themselves.” He handed his friend his keys back. “It’s all in the trunk though.” He’d doubled-down on everything after the blackmailing.

Tony sighed, that was two people he really hadn’t been interested in having attend. “Well we invited Thor, and factoring in known trends, that probably means Darcy and Jane will be coming too, so don’t worry; we made sure to get extra snacks anyway.”

Bruce took another long draw from his cigarette. “I guess we just have to hope word doesn’t _keep_ spreading.”

Yeah right.


	32. Chapter 32

The doorbell rang for the third time in three minutes. Steve paused in his assembly of the fondue fountain, setting the second tier off to the side where Phil was busy sticking toothpicks into strawberries and other fruits. “I’ll get it,” he said, already moving towards the door. “Excuse me, misses,” he said to a gaggle of girls standing just in the entry; they shuffled enough he could reach past them and pulled open the door. Steve smiled at the arrivals: Theodore and a handful of the players from the Westmore football team-- Fandral, Hogun, Volstagg and Sif (the one and _only_ girl on the team, which had caused a lot of controversy, but it was ultimately Theodore who convinced the council a girl could be one of the fiercest players the school had ever known)-- as well as Jane and Darcy, as Tony had guessed.

“Have we arrived too early?” Thor inquired. “I warned my companions that we may have made too great of haste.”

“No siree,” Steve responded, “We’re just making some final preparations.” He stood back and motioned his arm. “Come on in! And remember to take your shoes off at the door,” he relayed the house rules, pointing at the growing pile of footwear. The seven teens tromped their way past him, kicking their shoes off into the corner and Steve moved to close the door, only to notice another car full of several excited students pulling up the driveway. He hesitated with his hand on the doorknob, making the decision to wait for them before shutting the door. Steve cupped his hand to his mouth. “Tony, how many people did you _invite??_ ” he called into the house to the other boy-- he knew Stark liked to be the talk of the school, but it wasn’t even seven-fifteen yet and there had to be two dozen students already here.

“It was only supposed to be a handful of people!” Tony called back. He turned to address the group coming through the door, “Who are you guys? Do you even go to our school?”

“Oh hey, Logan, Scott, you guys made it!” Clint whooped, popping out of nowhere (as the acrobatic boy had a tendency to do) to give two of the men in the group a fist bump, “I was worried you didn’t get my text.”

“There’s your answer, Rogers,” Tony grumbled. “I’m gonna go check on Bruce in the kitchen. See if you can convince Thor to help out. And for fuck’s sake, don’t let the spy kids text anyone else on the outside.”

Clint’s gaze popped up from his phone upon hearing him, quickly keying in the last of his Tweet and pressing send. He slipped the device into his pocket, but not before Steve noticed. The student body president motioned at him to ‘give it here’, not fooled by the angelic look Clint was now attempting to give him. “I am going to have to confiscate that for the duration of the party. You can have it back when you’re headed home.”

Clint snorted. Subordinance, not really his style. “Hey, Nat!” he called to his redheaded friend across the room; she looked up. “Go long!” He flung the phone over Rogers’ shoulder and she caught it. Tony face-palmed at the resulting game of ‘monkey-in-the-middle’.

The third or so pass Steve was just about ready to give up, frustrated by the lack of respect for his authority the two troublemakers had. He made a grab for the phone as it was flung between his legs, but just missed it, Clint giving a caw of success as he held it aloft.

“Friend Steve, are you in need of assistance?” Thor called out, bounding over from halfway across the room, “You appear to be playing a game of mismatched sides. Might I be allowed to join in the sport?”

The doorbell chimed, but Steve wasn’t currently in a position to answer it. “It’s not really a sport, per se--” he began to explain as the device flew over his head again. “But yes, help would be--” the model young man ground his teeth together and forced himself not to cuss in front of everyone around-- “ _appreciated_.”

“Huzzah!” Thor bellowed triumphantly, “What, pray, are the terms of victory?”

Sif bumped her fellow football player on the arm. “I think you need to get that--” she pointed as the phone went sailing through the air-- “into that.” She pointed to the small tupperware bin where others had placed their belongings.

Thor’s eyes followed as he nodded, “Ah, well then. I do not forsee much difficulty!” The doorbell rang a second time unheard. Thor waited with calculated stillness and dove towards the phone lightning fast, catching it in mid flight. “Ha!” he barked, turning on the ball of his foot to toss it in Steve’s direction. The other blond nodded in thanks as he caught it in his hands.

“No fair!” Clint whined; Steve turned to give him a reprimanding. Natasha snuck towards his turned back, fingers primed and ready to nab the device while he was distracted.

“Friend Steve!” Thor cried out, holding his hands up to indicate he was ‘open’, “Lady Romanov wishes to intercept your goal!”

Rogers’ eyes widened in alarm and tossed the phone back to Thor just moments before she could manage. Clint bolted towards the muscular blond.

“Thor, right here!” Volstagg held up the tupperware.

“Give me back my--” Thor held Clint back with one hand easily, tossing the phone with the other. As it sailed through the air in a majestic arc, Barton made one last flying leap in attempt to gain it back... only to be tackled to the floor by Hogun. The electronic device plopped silently in the bin and Fandral slapped the lid over it, flashing a charming grin.

“Great job, guys. Now can you bring the ‘goal’ to Tony in the kitchen? Tha--” Steve began, but was cut off by whoops and cheers from Thor’s direction.

“Huzzah! Friend Steve, we are victorious!” Thor roared, closing the distance and pulling Steve into a one armed hug, “Shall we celebrate with a drink?”

“A drink, yes!” the other four on the Bilgesnipe team agreed wholeheartedly.

Rogers chuckled, scratching the back of his head as he was rounded by the all of them, seemingly with little choice. “I suppose a drink might be in order...”

Natasha held out her hand to help Clint up from the floor. “Don’t worry, we’ll get it back...” she muttered to him under her breath, eyes full of vengeance.

The doorbell chimed a third time. “My _God_ , would somebody _please_ get that??” Tony demanded snappishly.

“I’ll get it!” Jane exclaimed helpfully, hurrying for the door. She opened it and standing on the other side was Betty and Leonard.

“Oh, hi.” Betty held out her hand to the stranger, “Betty Ross. This is my boyfriend, Leonard. Tony and Bruce invited us over.”

“I’m Jane Foster,” the brunette shook both of their hands. “I um... think Tony and Bruce are pretty busy in the kitchen right now.”

“I didn’t think there were going to be so many people,” Leonard lifted a perplexed eyebrow.

“Word kind of, um... spread a lot,” Jane explained as far as she knew. “Come on in.” The girl noticed the jewelry on Betty’s arm and she drew in a gasp. “Oh wooow! Are those made to look like the planets in the solar system??”

“Oh, you like them?” she held up a wrist in response, “Christmas gift from Bruce.”

Jane’s eyes were wide as she inspected them closer. “I love them! I might even be a little jealous.” She laughed and pushed some hair behind her ear. “I have to admit, I’m a really big astronomy geek.”

“You too?”

“Yeah, I’m founder of the astronomy club at school-- we have monthly star-gazing trips-- and I do the horoscopes in the school paper,” Jane nodded.

“Uh oh, looks like I know where you’ll be the rest of the evening,” Leonard teased dryly, giving Betty’s shoulder a light jostle.

“Oh, stop it,” Betty shot back, giving her boyfriend’s arm a light swat, “I swear, everytime I try to make friends...”

“Sorry,” he smiled.

Jane didn’t seem deterred, “So what’s your focus? It’s my belief there’s life on other planets...!”

“Sir Anthony!” a harkening startled the boy whose head was currently in one of his many iceboxes, causing him to lift up and bump it on the lid. Tony mouthed an ‘ow’ as he rubbed the forming bump on the back of his head.

“We managed to get Clint’s phone,” Steve said as Fandral set the bin atop a mostly cleared counter, “He, uh, happened to get tackled in the process, but--”

Tony let out a short laugh, “Serves him right, the little shit.”

“Aye! We have come to toast victory! A round of drinks for me and my friends!” Thor boomed, motioning to the six of them.

Tony turned around to address the group, eyes resting on Steve. _Boyscout_ Steve. _Mock United Nations_ Steve. _Westmore High Abstinence Club Vice President_ Steve. “You’re drinking?” he asked, curiosity piqued.

“Is that...?” the blond teen began, slowly recognizing what was in the icebox Tony was hunched over.

Well nevermind that line of thought then. Of _course_ Rogers wore his D.A.R.E. shirt to the party. “Yeah, it is. You gonna call the cops?” he asked as he began distributing.

“Tony, no one here is old enough to be consuming alcohol--” Steve began.

“Fret not, friend Steve!” Thor barked, slapping his friend’s back, “It is but one ale! Surely a champion such as you could forego _some_ restraint on the Eve of a New Year such as this one?”

“Yeah, Steve. Live a little,” Tony dared. Steve glared.

“Hey, he doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to,” Phil spoke up in defense of the other boy.

Rogers glanced uncertainly between Ahlström and Coulson. “Well... what do you think, Phil?”

The boy blushed that Steve was asking for _his_ opinion on the subject. “As student president, you’re the role model for the entire school. Everyone looks up to you to do what’s right. But...” Uncertainly he selected one of the bottles from the cooler. “No one can identify with someone who’s perfect _all_ the time. And someone who knows when and when not to...” he flashed a brief glance Tony’s way, “‘live a little’ is the most responsible of all.”

“Aye! It would please us greatly to see you join in our merriment. What our elders are unaware of can do them no harm.”

Those two points of view were enough to sway Steve. “I guess...” he took the bottle that the other blond was currently offering him. “As long as we do so in moderation...”

“TO MODERATION!!” the four others cheered, clinking the necks of their bottles together.

“Aye! Moderation!” Thor echoed, mimicking the action with Steve and chugging down half a bottle.

Yeah... moderation.

Tony just stared incredulously for the second time that day. Thor and Phil had just convinced Steve Rogers to drink underage. What in the Hell had they done to him while Tony wasn’t looking? Was he being blackmailed? Or did he finally decide to pull the stick out of his ass and loosen up? No. This was clearly his alcoholic evil twin, or something.

“This is--” Steve’s face soured after tipping the bottle up and taking a small sip, “People enjoy this?” Tony rolled his eyes. Okay nevermind the evil twin theory. He dug through the cooler and pulled out a bottle of green apple Smirnoff. He popped the cap off and held it out to Steve, “I’ll trade you. This isn’t as bitter.”

“What is it?” Steve asked, eyeing the bottle and Tony cautiously.

“Just think of it like... an alcoholic apple pie,” Tony replied patronizingly, swapping the bottles. “It’s more your style I think.” He made sure to wipe the lip of Steve’s beer with a cloth before lifting it to take a sip, but hesitated before the liquid could so much as even touch his tongue. He sighed and set it back down.

_‘Not before Bruce gives me the O.K.’_

“Tony!” Darcy came bounding up to the counter. “Do you have an iPod dock? We have _got_ to get some music going in here.” She held up her device loaded with music.

“God, fine! Relax. Just don’t play anything on the list,” Tony groaned, pulled violently back into the insane reality of the party.

“What list?” Darcy questioned.

Tony huffed, holding up an index finger and stomping off quickly. He came back with a sheet of paper in hand, handing it to Darcy. It looked like it had been typed on a word processor and printed out, with some hasty additions made in red pen near the bottom.

Darcy read the title aloud, “‘Tracks That Are Banned From Play At Any Stark House Party, As Tony Stark Has Deemed Them Unworthy To Be Considered Music.’ Oookay, dude, you’re pretty weird.” Her eyes rolled behind her thick-framed glasses.

“Just go. Ipod Dock is in the living room, by the rest of the stereo equipment,” he shooed her away in the right direction. The crowd had only grown bigger and a panicked thought made its way violently to the forefront of his mind, “Oh my God, did I remember to lock the basement door?!” He turned to bolt for it and ran smack into Bruce, who was just coming out to tally how many heads there were and how many more hors d’oeuvres he’d have to cook.

The two of them fell back from one another, briefly stunned by the collision.

“Hey...” Tony got out finally.

“Hey...” Bruce responded, pushing up his glasses that had nearly been bumped off the front of his nose. His friend looked frazzled and practically spastic. “I think you could benefit from slowing down a moment,” he chuckled, reaching out to hold Tony by the arms and steady him.

“But, the basement door--” Tony pleaded.

“It’s locked,” Bruce cut him off. “You checked fifteen minutes ago,” he reminded. “You’re getting ‘forgetful’ like me,” he joked.

“Oh.” Tony sighed in relief, deflating a little in Bruce’s grip. The doorbell rang again. “Okay, remind me to murder Clint...” he said, grinding his teeth.

“Yeah. Will do. I don’t think I’m going to be able to make enough pigs-in-a-blanket.”

“Yeah, fuck it; I’m ordering like twenty cheese pizzas. Once that stuff is finished cooking, just stick some frilly toothpicks in ‘em and forget it. What’s the point in having a party if we can’t even sit down?” Music began to thump out from the hi-fi speakers in the front room and a wild cheer went up as the lights went down.

“‘Scuse me!” Tony and Bruce both dodged out of the way as Volstagg dragged the cooler of imported beer with Fandral atop it into the room where the music was playing.

“Things seem to be progressing fine without us,” Bruce noted. “Maybe we should just go with the flow like everyone else.” He pulled a couple bottles out of the ice by the neck and offered one to Tony.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Tony grinned.

“Thought you’d like it,” Bruce smiled back, popping the lid off of his.

Tony eyed the bottle in his hand warily, looking back to his best friend with uncertain eyes. “Bruce...” he began.

“Controlled environment, remember?” Bruce said with a smile. “You’re good.” The sentiment was momentarily broken by the sound of some piece of furniture being knocked over by a clumsy dancer. Make that _mostly_ controlled environment.

“Yeah, but...” Tony licked his lips. He still had his reservations. He didn’t want to disappoint his friend. Not after that night at the levee. Not after everything that had happened. “Are you sure?”

It was cute how Tony’s reservations were bigger than Steve’s right now. Bruce continued. “You won’t get carried away. And if you do, we’re at a party. I think you have an excuse.” He leaned in and snuck in a kiss on the other boy’s temple.

Tony chuckled, relieved. But now he had another thought... He took a swig of the beer in his hands. “Come here,” he purred, pulling his friend into an unoccupied corner to kiss him back.

Bruce resisted the urge to slide a hand up his friend’s shirt so he could start groping him. “Careful... or we’ll have to relocate...” he murmured against the other’s lips, ready to pull apart if someone happened to come walking by.

“Please,” Tony scoffed, “This place is fucking Candyland. Nobody’s coming into the kitchen when there’s alcohol and expensive shit everywhere else.”

“Well, just in case...” Bruce took two quick glugs and grabbed him by the shirt to tug him into the pantry, shutting the door after them.

\--

“Okay, this one’s going to be a bit of a challenge... right foot: blue,” Betty called out after having spun the spinner.

Thor stomped down his foot right as Steve was reaching for the far circle, resulting in a pile-up of bodies, Phil on top of Steve entangled with Thor, with Natasha the only one left posed perfectly on her colored dots. It was her third victory in a row. The three boys shared a merry laugh as they got up.

“Oh c’mon, give someone else a turn!” Jane giggled from her place on the living room floor beside Betty. She took another gulp of her drink and wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist. “You’ve made your point.”

“Alright,” Natasha straightened, a ghost of a smile on her full lips. She gave Clint a low-five. “You’re in.” And then under her breath as he passed by, “Keep them distracted.” And with that she swept off.

Clint cracked his knuckles out in front of him, tilting his head from side and side to pop the vertebrae, limbering up. “Get ready to lose, suckers.”

Steve went over to the couch, letting one of the boys from the football team replace him in the next Twister match. He was still laughing as he reached for his Smirnoff on the coffee table-- he’d thought that blue dot would be an easy target, but apparently so had Theo, and they’d all come tumbling down! He brought the bottle to his lips, tilting it back, only to find he had barely a swallow left. The discovery was a little disappointing. He grabbed a handful of Chex mix and tossed it into his mouth. He’d been very sure to alternate between snacks and consuming his drink, in fact, he was fairly certain he wasn’t even feeling the effects of the alcohol yet. So it would probably be okay to have another. “Hey Theo!” he called out to the boy over the music-- he was standing right next to the icebox.

“Ah, yes, friend Steve!” Thor called back.

“Could you get me another one of these?” he asked, holding his empty aloft for the other teen to see through the crowd.

Thor felt a joyous grin slowly split his face in two at the question. “If this pleases you, it would be my honor!” he hollered over the din. With much haste, he found the ale chest and scavenged inside of it until his search rewarded him a bottle of smirnoff and another bottle of ale. Before Steve had much time to properly miss his first bottle, Thor was already crossing the jungle of bodies to plop down next to his friend on the couch with a new one, nice and frosty. Theodore slung his arm around the other teen thoughtlessly, “Are you ‘feeling buzzed’ yet, my good friend?”

Steve took it with a shy chuckle, the muscular arm over his shoulders heavy, pushing him deeper into the sofa. “Not just yet I don’t think.”

“Ahhh,” Thor rumbled from his chest, “Well, there is time yet for many things to happen this evening of festivities.” Their blue eyes locked as Theo jostled him chumily.

Steve felt himself blink. Many things? Like what? He found himself staring as Theodore wet his lips. “Yeah, you’ve got that right,” Steve responded with an embarrassed laugh.

Thor looked as though he was about to say something more when Phil’s head appeared between theirs, leaning in from behind the couch. “Hey Steve, you wanna get the chocolate fountain set up the rest of the way?” he asked chipperly.

“Oh yeah!” Steve had forgotten all about it-- it should be a big hit with the crowd. He slipped out from under Theo’s arm. “Thanks,” he motioned his drink in gratitude to the other blond.

“Aye...” Thor replied with a nod and a smile that stopped short of his eyes.

Natasha stealthily crept into the kitchen, peering to her right and left to ensure she was alone. She walked around the island counter once or twice, scanning over the odds and ends for the particular piece of tupperware she was on the hunt for. Then her eyes narrowed down on it. Smiling, she stole over to it, fingers extended.

The oven timer began to beep noisily beside her and Natasha yanked her fingers away from the plastic bin in alarm-- no doubt Banner would be on his way to...

And then Bruce emerged from the pantry.

With Tony.

“And just _what_ were you two doing in there?” her head tipped to the side, red locks following the motion.

Tony nearly jumped out of his skin before finding words. He shot the intruder a glare, “I _live_ here. Bruce and I have been in here prepping food to feed you people, not to mention all the extra people your boyfriend invited, which might I add was a real dick move. So what the Hell are _you_ doing in here?”

“First,” the girl leaned onto a hip, and lifted a finger to contest, “Clint is not my boyfriend, and I do not take responsibility for his rash actions. Though tangentally, you never told us we _couldn’t_ invite other people, so really, that’s on you.”

Bruce bit the inside of his lip and decided to stay out of the argument, going over to turn off the dinger and remove the tray from the oven.

“Alright, so first,” Tony retorted, loosely mocking the redhead, “Forgive me for not cross-checking your facebook relationship statuses before coming to a conclusion, thereby forcing us into a position where we’re arguing semantics like I actually have time for that. I keep forgetting how hard it is for you to hold a relationship, though considering the amount of time you put into prying into other people’s I probably should have,” he snapped. “Secondly, I wasn’t there when you twisted Bruce’s arm into inviting you two, and if I was I’d have set a guest limit.”

Romanov folded her arms. “For your information, it’s not a matter of ‘holding’ a relationship; Clint and I prefer to keep things open. Love is for grown-ups.” She cocked a knowing eyebrow. “I’m surprised you think differently, Stark. And please, a guest-limit? As if this house and your bank account can’t handle the current occupancy.” The doorbell rang almost as if on-cue.

Bruce quickly moved the last of the pigs-in-the-blanket onto a tray, threw off the oven-mitt and went to go get the door. Natasha’s eyes followed him out before re-zeroing on Stark’s.

Tony felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Was that really what she thought? What other people thought? It made him feel sick. “It’s not always about what I can _afford_. How many of these people do you think came here to spend New Years with _me?_ Not much more than a handful. But you’re right: why should I be selfish?” He chuckled darkly, glaring at the bin that housed Clint’s cell. “Take the goddamn phone. Tell Clint to invite who he wants. It’s not like they’re his responsibility either. Then go find some of my toys to play with and leave me alone.”

The redhead tilted her head with a touch of surprise at the turn of events. She opened the tupperware and plucked out the phone, giving one last look his way before departing.

Tony stomped out shortly after, pushing past a few guests at the door. “Just leave it open!” he spat, stalking out towards the curb. He sat down and proceeded to fix his gaze on the asphalt.

A few furious minutes later, a voice made him look up. “Tony, what are you doing out here?” Pepper inquired. She was wearing a full-length blue dress with a very low back, and she’d curled her hair again for the occasion. She was also, notably, an hour late, which was very unlike her.

“Pep, hi... Uh, Happy New Year. Nice dress...” he stalled.

Despite the flimsy attempt, Pepper saw through him as if he were transparent (like sitting outside when his party was inside wasn’t evidence enough). “Okay, now I _know_ something is wrong.” She hiked the outfit up just a little at the knees and took a seat beside him.

“They don’t need me in there,” Tony scoffed.

“Who doesn’t need you?” Pepper asked, glancing back at the house.

“All those people in there...” Tony thumbed back at his house lamely, “I’m just a venue with lots of cool shit.”

Pepper’s tone turned cold, her lips pursing. “Oh.” She had the distinct feeling that the guestlist had gotten wildly out of hand (she probably should have offered to manage it herself to keep something like this from happening). After a moment she lifted her hand to stroke it against Tony’s back through his shirt, “Well, it’s not really about them. It’s about those of us who are close to you. Like me and Bruce.”

“I know, but I actually _invited_ you two.” Tony let out a long sigh, shaking his head, “But Natasha said it, and it’s true: I have the space and the cash to handle way worse than this, so I have no reason to complain.”

“Natasha said _what?_ ” Pepper asked shrilly. Oh, that girl had messed with the wrong one of her exes. She had no right to speak to Tony that way. “I am going to have a talk with her,” she settled, starting to get up.

Tony grabbed her wrist gently, looking up with pleading eyes, “Pep, please... The only reason she and Clint are here is because they threatened to narc on us.”

“Oh, so you’re saying you got yourself into this mess,” she teased, shooting him a knowing look. “How many cases did you buy?”

“Uhh... Bruce bought them... I think I counted... eight... nine...” he trailed off as he continued the re-count in his head.

“Gosh, I better get in there quick then before they’re all gone,” Pepper laughed. She grabbed his hand in hers, pulling him up from the curb and into a kiss. “Come on, let’s go enjoy the party.”

Tony shrugged, allowing himself a little smile. “I’ll try.”

“Oh, which reminds me...” the girl opened her purse to dig around inside it, “I brought you a little something that might cheer you up...”

“Yeah?” Tony lifted his head to look.

“Here it is!” Pepper removed a bottle of Mr. Bubble brand bubble bath liquid.

Tony’s eyes widened. “Is that for--” he grinned, “Oh my God, how did you know?”

She smirked at his reaction. “Bruce might have dropped the hint last time we were on the telephone.”

“Thank you! Fuck!” Tony exclaimed as he pulled Pepper into a hug, “You two are too good to me. And shit, I owe Bruce a thank you too.”

“I’m sure you can find a way to do that,” she joked knowingly as she pulled away.

“Oh I’m sure,” Tony chuckled, in higher spirits now. He paused to rub his head. “I forgot to ask though; why were you so late getting here?”

“Oh...” Pepper’s gaze averted. “Happy and I were having an argument.”

“Oh. You okay?” Tony inquired. More questions were nagging him, but he decided it probably wasn’t a good time to ask.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” she said. “I mean, the first time I talk to him since winter break and he tries to say I--” Pepper stopped herself short of an angry rant; she knew the way she’d acted was unfair to Happy, and yet she had felt so justified in chewing his ass out when he suggested they do something together tonight. And she’d almost... _almost_ said yes, but she also knew how it would go. They’d have a nice night, watch the ball drop, maybe even kiss when the clock hit 12:00:00, but then would come the conversation. The conversation about getting back together again, about how she didn’t have to say ‘yes’ to marriage yet, that Happy was willing to wait.

But she wasn’t ready yet. And besides, getting drunk at Tony’s New Years party sounded way more fun than dealing with all that. Pepper regarded her ex very seriously. “I would like a vodka martini. Very dry with olives, a lot of olives. At least three olives. Please tell me you can make this happen.”

“Pfft, ‘Can I make this happen?’.” Tony rolled his eyes, “You’re funny.” He took her by the hand with a grin and swept her inside.

They were greeted by Steve almost immediately upon entry. “Hey Pepper, you made it!” he grinned, sauntering over to her and Tony. “Gosh, you look pretty tonight. You want a strawberry?” he extended one of the chocolate-covered fruits on a toothpick.

Pepper declined by pushing his hand away. “That’s alright, I’m actually allergic. Nice of you to offer though.” She gave the boy a sweet smile. She wasn’t sure how Tony had convinced the Student Body President to drink, but the blond didn’t seem upset in the least.

“Tony, you’re so lucky,” Steve said then, his words uncharacteristically lacking in thought, “Pepper’s real foxy.”

“ _Wow_ ,” was all Pepper had to say.

Tony choked off what would have been a hard laugh. The alcohol was beginning to make Steve almost tolerable. “You having fun, Miss America?”

Steve blinked twice and then got the joke, letting loose a snort of laughter, “Shut up! Be serious for a second. I actually came to ask if you had any more apple pie vodkas.” He held up an empty bottle of Smirnoff-- was that his first or second? maybe _third_ , Tony could only guess-- “The living room cooler is out.”

Tony nodded, a mischievous glint in his eye, “It’s green apple. And yeah, absolutely. Why don’t you go grab Ahlström and Coulson, and meet me in the kitchen.” Steve responded to the command with a ridiculous salute and set out in search of them. “On that note, you think you could fetch Bruce and Betty for me?” Tony asked, the question intended for his ex.

Pepper nodded. “Remember, at least three olives,” she said before turning.

“You got it, babe.” Tony waved her away with a smirk, though not without taking a nice lengthy look at the expanse of back that dress revealed from shoulder blades to sacral dimples. What do you know? Another thing he and Steve agreed on.

Still smirking, Tony pulled out his cell phone as he went over to his father’s liquor cabinet. “Yeah, hey, it’s Tony. No. Only twenty large pizzas this time. No... Yeah... No,” Tony answered questions, propping the phone in his shoulder as he hunkered down by the cabinet. “I don’t know. Just leave five plain and pick the rest out of a hat. I trust your judgement. Yeah, Happy New Year to you too. ‘Kay, bye.”

He leaned over to check the lock when he noticed a note taped to the door handle. Curiously, he snatched it and gave it a read.

_‘Son,_

_Don’t screw up this lock again by forcing it open. If you want the key, I left it with Bruce. Nothing personal, I just feel like he’s better at saying no than you are. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do (so basically do everything; just don’t get caught). And at least try to get along with Steve Jr._

_Have a Happy New Year,  
-Dad’_

Tony smiled and shook his head, “Yeah, you too...” he muttered to himself. He turned, cupping his hand over his mouth, “Hey Bru--! Oh, there you are,” he was surprised to see the other teen appear right beside him.

“Looking for this?” Bruce asked as he removed the key from his front pocket, dangling it in front of his friend.

“How did you guess?” Tony asked in faux-amazement, plucking it from his friend’s grasp.

“What are we having?” he asked as he watched Tony unlock the cabinet. “I didn’t grab enough at the store?”

“We’re doing shots,” Tony answered as he proceeded to rummage through the cabinet, scanning for the familiar bottle of Jameson, “...with Irish Whiskey.”

Bruce lifted a curious eyebrow, taking the bottle from him to inspect the label (and the alcohol content). “Eighty proof...” he readjusted his glasses and looked at Tony, “We’ll have to make sure this doesn’t get too far afield.”

“Absolutely not. Just the few people we get along with. And Steve,” he amended. He shook his head. “I swear that kid is taking to alcohol quicker than _you_ took to _sex_.”

Bruce blushed slightly and proceed to tweak Tony’s ear. “Well, they’re all in the kitchen waiting. Let’s go. Unless you want to indulge _me_ instead.”

“Tough choice,” Tony muttered, stroking his chin as he pretended to consider the option, “...but there’s still plenty of time for that later...” Tony replied, swatting Bruce away playfully. He relocked the cabinet and pocketed the key.

\--

The two of them made their way into the other room just as Steve was pulling a very pink-in-the-face Phil along beside him, their arms twined; he’d obviously already found and rounded up Thor, who was sitting at the bar. Steve took a seat on one of the bar stools beside his fellow blond and looked at Tony, inquiring, “So, where are they? The pies?”

“Settle down, champ,” Tony responded, propping open the second cooler and pulling out a smirnoff and two beers to place down on the counter in front of their respective lushes. “Now don’t run off yet,” he warned, doling out the shot glasses and pouring an equal amount of whiskey in each one.

The girls arrived on the scene a moment later, Pepper and Betty and Jane (who were apparently now attached at the hip after significant comparing of astrological interests). “That doesn’t look like three olives,” Pepper arched an eyebrow at her bartending ex.

“We’re doing shots first,” Tony announced, “As soon as I can come up with something good to toast to...”

“So is this stuff stronger than the apple?” Steve questioned, inspecting the shot glass.

Tony snorted, “Eh, a little bit.”

“The glass is tiny, but the drink is not, my friend!” Thor slapped his buddy on the back.

“Hmm...” Pepper vocalized, pretending to think as she lifted the tiny glass filled with amber liquid. “Well, not to feed an already over-sized ego,” her green eyes met her ex’s, a teasing smile on her lips, “but I think we should toast to Tony. For being great and sharing his home with us.”

“I can drink to that,” Bruce smiled knowingly.

Tony chuckled. Pep knew just what to say to make him feel better. “Well, fuck, so can I!” he grinned.

The rest gave similar sentiments as the teens tossed back their shots. And there were a myriad of reactions. Bruce gave one hard wheeze and shook his curly-haired head as he set the glass carefully back down in front of him. Pepper had been expecting the harsh burn, but that didn’t mean she liked the feeling and she blinked several times as her eyes watered. Betty made a subtle face and immediately chased it with a sip of her soda. Jane’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head and she cringed, stepping away from the counter. “Oh, that’s enough for me. I’ll stick to beer thanks.”

“Yeah, that was...” Phil shook his head, following Betty’s example and taking a sip of his beer to try and lessen the bite, “I’m good.” He finished, taking his and Jane’s shot glass over to the sink to rinse them clean.

“Well, that’s two out already,” Tony smirked as he quickly tossed his own back, making a point not to acknowledge the burning sensation in the slightest. “So Steve, what’cha think?”

“I’m wondering when this stuff is supposed to start working,” Steve remarked after his coughs had subsided. “Cuz... cuz I don’t feel anything yet!” he finished, gaze panning around the room and resting on Tony as if expecting an explanation.

“You must have a mighty stamina friend Steve!” Theodore laughed. “Sir Anthony, another!” and he thumped down his glass on the counter, accidentally shattering it.

Tony cringed, turning on his heel, “I’ll get the dustpan...”

Steve was a bit slow on the uptake, but when he realized what had happened he grabbed for Thor’s hand. “Theo, you okay?” He turned it over, inspecting for cuts. He did have first-aid training after all. CPR too. CPR was important; CPR could save lives. He’d never saved a life with it though. Why was he thinking so much about CPR right now?

Thor nodded his head in affirmation, but did not immediately reclaim his captive limb. “I am sorry, Master Stark,” he bowed his head in humble guilt as the other teen brushed the fragments into the pan.

“We have more,” Tony shrugged, turning his head to address Steve, “So how’s his hand?”

“Oh, um... No cuts,” the blond answered with a shake of the head.

“Good,” Tony beamed as he poured another round for all the remaining teens. He set the bottle down and considered what they could toast to next, which was when a smile spread across his face. “Let’s make this one to Bruce, for getting the beer. Buddy,” he lifted his glass towards his friend.

Bruce chuckled and returned the gesture before throwing it down, and the rest followed suit with words of gratitude. “That’s not the only thing I got,” Bruce amended, going over to the refrigerator. He began systematically removing bottles of water and dispersing them, tossing one to each drinker. “Dilution. I recommend you each have one, and the bathroom is down the hall when it becomes a necessity.”

Pepper unscrewed the cap of her water and slid her empty shot glass towards her ex. “Well, I’m done for now. Have to save myself for that martini.” Tony collected it with a chuckle.

Steve and Thor were already clinking their drained glasses against the counter in rally for another. Coulson came over and gently removed Rogers’ glass from his hands. “Aww, Phil, what’re you doing?” the blond inquired, peering at him over his shoulder, as close to crestfallen as the boy had ever looked. Thor looked like he was about to argue in the other blond’s stead, but stopped himself with some difficulty.

“I think you’ve had enough for now,” Phil explained with a smile, patting his shoulder. “You drink too much now and you’ll _really_ be feeling it later.”

“You’re probably right,” Steve nodded as he stepped off the stool. It was noticeably less steady than when he’d sat. “Oh...” he got out, sagging a bit onto his admirer. “Yeah, maybe I’m feeling it a little now.” He clutched onto his bottle of water and let Phil lead him to another chair where they could watch from a distance.

“Guess we’re down to just the four of us,” Tony concluded, lifting an eyebrow as he began tilting amber fluid into the four little glasses.

“You’re still in, Betty?” Jane asked, her brown eyes on the other girl’s glass as it was refilled.

Tony snorted. “I’m not surprised.”

“Don’t mind him,” Betty said, patting Tony’s arm, “He’s just a sore loser.”

“He’s _always_ been a sore loser,” Pepper chimed in.

“Yeah well, you can’t cheat at shots,” Tony shot right back.

“Since when did it become a competition?” Bruce asked.

“Friends please!” Thor interrupted, tone just the slightest bit sour now, “As amused as I may be of your boasting, my Glass of Shots lies depressingly empty before me. Shall we toast?”

“Toast we shall,” Tony issued sarcastically, filling the football player’s glass.

“Hm... to the new year?” Betty put forth.

“Sounds good to me,” Bruce nodded.

“Aye! To a new year and new friends! Skål!” Thor bellowed heartily before downing his shot with a smack of lips. Tony hummed his agreement, glancing at Steve just briefly before taking his shot.

“And old ones too,” Bruce chuckled, casting a glance Betty’s way before swallowing his down. Betty nodded fondly, doing the same. After the burn subsided, Bruce held out his hand towards Tony, offering to take his glass so he could rinse it out in the sink.

The old him would’ve looked at Bruce askance and said _‘Done? Ha! I’m just getting started. Watch.’_ The new him knew there was plenty of night left. “Yeah, I think I’m done,” Tony said, making sure to avoid Betty’s eyes as he handed the glass over to Bruce. He’d obviously drunk too much if he was starting to entertain the idea of befriending Steve. He shook his head, “I’m gonna get to work on that martini. Someone else pour the next round, and don’t be greedy.”

“Can I get one too?” Jane asked. “Actually two. I should really find Darcy.”

“They can have mine for now,” Pepper amended. “I have to go powder my nose.” There was a purposefulness in her green eyes that said her intentions were quite different. Tony nodded at her and she left in search of Natasha, the alcohol doing its part to make her even bolder and more confrontational than usual, which was a scary prospect.

Bruce took the bottle and refilled Theodore’s glass. He glanced up at his female friend. “Still in?” he made sure before pouring.

Betty scoffed, “I can handle more.”

“But how much more?” Bruce chuckled and filled it full. He was amused that this, like any game, she was unwilling to back down on. And against the Westmore football star... well, he knew she knew the risks. This wasn’t Jenga.

Thor gazed upon her, knowing she would likely not stop until he did as well, “Are you sure, Lady Ross?”

“I said yes,” she replied, eyes steely.

“My hands are tied,” Thor conceded, “If it is a matter of your honor, then we shall drink.”

Steve put his forefinger and thumb into his mouth and gave a loud whistle. “Go Theooo!” he cheered enthusiastically, leaning back in his seat; he would have tumbled out of it if not for the quick interception made by Phil to keep him upright.


	33. Chapter 33

“Have any of you seen Betty?” Leonard inquired, catching up to the two party hosts.

Bruce glanced between Tony and Betty’s boyfriend and gave an “Um...”  He scratched the back of his head and willed his eyes not to direct over to the downstairs bathroom.

”You have such majestic locks, I fear I am envious...” Thor nearly whimpered as he held said locks up and away from the toilet bowl.  “For naught but a couple days ago were my own nearly this length and volume.”

“Ugh...” Betty groaned a bit, wiping away some bile from the corner of her lip with yet another tissue, hoping this time she was done.  “What happened to it?” she asked, looking back at him while repressing an oncoming gag.

Thor let out a tortured sigh, forcing himself not to relive the memory.  “My dishonorable bastard of a father...” he shared begrudgingly, likely due to the alcohol’s influence, “He gave the order, out of ignorance and fear.”

Betty gave a small ‘Aw...’.  At least listening to the boy was taking her mind off her roiling stomach.  “Your father made you cut your hair?  What for?  Hadn’t you been keeping it long for awhile?”  It had been that way at the bonfire at least, if her memory served.

Thor spoke low and quiet, and his words shared none of the characteristics of his ‘normal’ speech.  It was the way he spoke when no one was around to overhear.  “He said people were starting to talk, between how I act and how I look...” Theodore inhaled deeply, “He said ‘Ei poika minun on ulkonäkö homo!’  Which, basically, translates to ‘No son of mine is going to come off queer...’”

“Oh goodness, that’s just an awful thing for him to have said.”  She noticed the large boy was trembling and she reached out to pat his forearm.  “Well, sometimes it takes a little while for parents to come around and pull their heads out of their own--” her cheeks billowed suddenly and she doubled back over the toilet.

Thor rubbed her back to busy himself, “He sat me down in the chair and hacked it off before my mother got home...  She-- she took me to get it fixed.  We didn’t talk about it.” 

Betty’s words were somewhat discernable from her current position with her head over the bowl, “I’m sorry that happened.  Daddy won’t let me get a tattoo-- he says they’re unfeminine.”   _‘Oh, he would have_ loved _to see me do seven shots of whiskey...’_  She reached up and flushed the toilet.

Theodore’s rhetoric returned.  “Pray tell, what mark should you like emblazoned on your fair skin, Lady Ross?  Your father is not wrong to remark upon your delicacy.”

Betty rolled her eyes.  “Just my star sign on my shoulder blade.”

“Oh?  To which planet are you aligned?” he inquired.

“Venus.  Which is Taurus.”  She gave him a knowing look.  “Let me guess, you’re a Leo, aren’t you?”

“Haha!” Theodore laughed and thumped his chest, “That I am!  Proud and valiant and strong!”  He paused then, becoming downcast once more.  “But my father, he is ashamed of me...” the golden-haired teen mumbled, turning his head to hide the stinging in his eyes.

“There, there, don’t cry... come here.”  Betty put her arms around the large boy’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug.  Despite the way she was heaving her guts, some of the alcohol had to have entered her bloodstream, because she wasn’t ordinarily this touchy-feely with someone she didn’t know very well.  Though seven shots _did_ help you get to know someone.  “There’s nothing about you he should be ashamed of.”

Thor nodded, clearing his throat.  “Aye,” he spoke up, “I’ve no place in my heart for such foolishness.  T’is why I’ve chosen to leave hateful home and take residence in my chariot.”

“Your... chariot?”  She didn’t think she’d heard that one correctly... maybe she needed to throw up a little more.

“You know, four little rubber wheels, beacons in front and back?  I believe you call them cars,” Thor corrected, back to ‘himself’, at least what he displayed on the outside, “Apologies, Lady Ross.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” Betty said.  “But wouldn’t one of your friends be willing to give you a room?  Or...”  She waded through the fuzziness in her brain, the answer then occurring to her, “Oh, you haven’t told anyone but me, have you?”

“Nay, I do not wish myself to be a burden to anyone,” Thor responded, shoulders hunching.

“That’s very noble, but it’s the middle of _winter_.  You’ll freeze overnight in your...” she hesitated, “chariot.”

“Aye, but I can’t bear t-to...”

“You’re just being stubborn; stop it,” Betty slapped him on the arm (he recoiled, though it hardly registered as a hit compared to what he normally endured on the field).  “It’s not weakness to ask for help in a time of need.”  My God, did _every_ boy not listen to her advice when she gave it to them?

“I... I understand...  I shall make attempt at finding lodging with a friend,” Thor relented, smiling.  “And you must not drink more than you can handle.  We are not all so lucky to be descendants of the gods.”  He pat her upon the back before he rose to stand to take his leave.

Betty nodded, and that was when the doorknob jiggled.  “Is someone using-- oh,” Steve blinked down at Betty and then up at Theodore.

The girl grabbed defensively at the toilet.  “I’m not done yet; go find the one upstairs.”

“Sorry,” Steve stepped back out with a wobble.  Thor exited as well, closing the door to leave Lady Ross to it.  They headed for the stairs.  “What were you two talking about, Theo?” Steve asked, his normally bright blue eyes a little hazy.

Thor swallowed, casting his eyes to the stairs as they alighted together.  “It was...” he began, but faltered.  By the gods, was it truly so hard to simply lie to the man before him?  Could he not just claim it to be nothing, a meaningless chat, or to tell the other man that it was not his worry?  It would not be a statement _too_ far removed from truth.

“Yeah?  It was what?” Steve pressed as he located the other bathroom.  Thank Heavens, he had to pee like a racehorse.  He unzipped the fly of his jeans as he stepped up to the commode.

Thor worried his lip.  Lady Ross had advised him to ask for aid where it may be needed, hadn’t she?  “Due to a... familial dispute... I have recently abandoned my household, and have vowed on my honor never to return.  At present time I take refuge in my chariot.  I hope this does not diminish mine image in thine eyes.”

“That must have been _some_ family dispute...” Steve commented, searching through the fuzziness of his inebriation for the right thing to say.  “I’m sorry to hear it.  You’re really never going back?” he asked as he flushed the john and turned around.

“Nay,” Thor shook his head, “And my heart bears no apologies for the choice I’ve made.  I earn enough coin from meal deliveries to purchase fuel for the chariot, and to feast for another day.”  Thor cursed himself internally.  Steve was likely to assume him content with his lodgings, almost boastfully so.  How frustrating.

“Yeah, but don’t you need an address to get your mail?  Or are you going to get a P.O. Box?” Steve asked as he turned the faucet to wash his hands.  The student body president was still trying to wade his way through the concept and the alcohol really wasn’t helping-- he’d had enough trouble urinating in a straight line.

“I acted without foresight, but I stand behind those actions no matter the setbacks,” Thor stated with only a meager smattering of pride, before adding, “But... Lady Ross warns the winter is an inopportune season for one to take residence in one’s vehicle...”

Steve finished drying his hands on the hand towel beside the sink.  “Well listen,” he set one of them down on Theo’s shoulder again-- though it possibly did more for his own stability than to console the other boy-- “if you need a place to stay for a few nights, I’m sure I could just ask my parents and they’d be willing to let you stay.  We have a spare guest room upstairs.”

Thor felt his heart flutter inside his chest, “You... you would do this for me, friend?”

Steve shrugged.  “Yeah, at least until you figure something more permanent out.”

Thor didn’t think at all before pulling his friend into a slightly-less-than-crushing hug.  “Your generosity shall not be forgotten.  Verily, I am in your debt.”

“Really, it’s no problem,” Steve chuckled as he tried to regain his breath from the hug.  With as much as Theodore did for the team and Westmore’s school spirit, what kind of Student President would he be not to offer?  Even drunk he knew that much.  He clapped Theo on the back twice more and stumbled back off towards the sitting room. He wasn’t aware of the dewy gaze that followed him.

Phil Coulson hopped up and dashed over to him, immediately grabbing his arm to help steady the other boy.  “There you are!  What took you?  You had me worried I should’ve gone with you,” he gave a little laugh.  “Come on, let’s sit you back down now.”

Steve just smiled, letting his weight sag onto the other boy as he was lead back to the armchair he’d been reclined in prior to needing to relieve himself.  He nearly fell into the La-Z-Boy with a clumsy movement of his feet, and Phil repositioned him onto his back with both his hands on the armrest.  He pulled the lever to elevate his feet, then grabbed a pillow off the nearby couch and rested it beneath his head.  Steve groaned in relaxation.  It was good Phil had stopped him when he did.  He _was_ really feeling it now.

“Here; take this and keep drinking,” Phil handed him a fresh bottle of water, cap already twisted open.

Steve nodded, doing so.  After he’d taken a couple big glugs, he shut his eyes.  “You’re good to me, Phil,” he murmured appreciatively.  “Why are you so good to me?”

The boy blushed frantically, though Steve couldn’t see him for having his eyes closed.  He fluffed his idol’s pillow absently.  “A person is good to the people they like.  It’s how they let them know they care.”

The blond nodded to that wisdom, thinking of the offer he’d just extended to Theo as he nuzzled himself deeper into the recliner.  He spoke up again.  “I think... I think I’m gonna take a nap, okay?  Don’t let Tony draw on my face with Sharpie...”

Phil patted his arm.  “Don’t worry; I’ll watch you while you sleep.”

\--

In the hall, a hurl was heard from the restroom and the echoing sound of a large amount of liquid hitting the water in the bowl.  “My God.   _Is that Betty??_ ” Leonard’s eyes widened in alarm.  “Her father is going to kill me,” he said as he hurried off.

Tony couldn’t help but consider knowing when to quit a small victory, at least in this instance.  She’d be fine in the morning, assuming she got some food and water into her once she was done paying tribute the porcelain god.

Pepper strode over to her ex and slipped the battery to Clint’s phone into his hand.  “The matter has been handled.  Natasha has revoked her earlier statements, and Clint will be acting as the bouncer for the pool party segment of the evening.  He’s been told that no more than thirty are allowed in at once.  She hopes it will be an agreeable compromise between you three and won’t permanently scar any ledger you have with them.”

Tony stared back dumbfounded for a moment before a grin overtook his features, “You’re amazing.  You know that right?”

“Well aware,” she smiled back.  “Should I go put on my bikini?  I can only assume entry will be on a first-come, first-served basis.”

“You know I could get you in either way,” Tony leaned closer to whisper conspiratorially, “I’m friends with the guy who owns the place.”

Pepper laughed out loud and headed towards the stairs, “Then I’ll see you there.”

Tony shot her a wink and a grin before taking to the task of finding the bubble liquid to pour into the pool.

\--

The thundering of heavy footfalls sounded from the corridor, turning every head in the pool room as Theodore streaked past-- streaked, in this case, being quite literal, as he had nothing on besides a massive toothy grin spread over his maw.  “CANNONBAAALL!!” he shouted as he leapt into the air and tucked both his legs to his chest.  The resulting splash was enormous.  Suds lapped up over the lip, the froth consuming the boy whole.  When his head popped back up over the surface, it almost appeared he had his long hair back, plus a bubbly beard.  He laughed jovially.

“Hey, wait up!” Steve called, sort of but not quite on his heels as he struggled to get his clothes off-- it was obvious from the wobble in his gait that he wasn’t quite sober yet.

“Oh Jesus...” Tony muttered from the kitchen doorway, juggling twenty pizza boxes stacked in his arms.  He’d barely even gotten the words out about the pool being open and here they were dashing out like a pair of morons.  He tried not to smile as he set the pizzas on the counter and cupped his hands over his mouth to shout after the second blond, “I am _not_ scraping your red, black and blue ass off of the floor if you fall!”

Steve teetered at the slippery edge of the pool, looking down at his feet, which, thanks to double-vision, there were four of.  He reached down to attempt to get his jeans off his ankles, lost his balance, and face-planted into the water.

“Steve!” Phil yelped; he didn’t have time to take off his entire outfit, so he settled for removing his jacket before diving in after him.  Thor had about the same idea, treading water quickly from the other side of the pool.  He wasn’t easy to locate, what with all the bubbles on the surface, but the two of them together each found an arm and pulled his head above water.

Steve gave a splutter which turned into a giggle, “You guuuys!  How’m I supposed to swim with you both holding onto me?”  He kicked his legs in the water, treading, albeit drunkenly.

“And how should you expect to swim with your ankles so entwined in denim?” Thor challenged.

“Uh... What?” Steve tilted his head as the two led him to the water’s edge.  Together Phil and Thor boosted him up.

“Let’s get these off, alright?” Coulson said as he pulled the offending wet garment the rest of the way off Steve’s legs, leaving him in just his boxer briefs.

“Ohhh!” the blond boy recognized with another giggle.  “Thanks, guys.”

A lot of other students were now making their way in, either jumping in from the sides or getting in via the stairs in the shallow end.  Thanks to the stirring action of the filter, mountains of bubbles floated on the surface in magnificent crests of white foam, illuminated in fantastic pearlescent colors from the lights mounted into the bottom of the pool.  It made the whole room practically shimmer.  A lot of kids took the opportunity to strip down to their skivvies or less since the bubbles provided ample cover.

Clint abruptly put his palm to the wall, blockading the line.  “Aaand that’s thirty,” he said.  “You’re gonna hafta wait until someone else leaves.  Sorry, ladies.”  The group of girls groaned and stamped their feet impatiently, trying to get up on tippy-toe and peer over his shoulder at the fun happening inside.

“Look alive!  Coming through!” Volstagg forced his way past them all, including Clint, the 150-Quart ice chest held high over his head; the bottles of beer and melted ice could be heard sloshing around inside.  He thumped it down by the spa.

Bruce walked over to the cooler to retrieve a beer.  Since his three shots of whiskey, a nice mellow heat had settled comfortably in his belly, and he wasn’t looking to lose the sensation just yet.  He hmm’d as he searched through the ice for his desired brand.  The ice chest was about half empty.  It was unlikely it would last the night.  And he’d thought at the time he was getting too much.  Bruce shook his head.  He popped the cap off and sauntered over to the unoccupied hot tub, pulling the end of his towel loose from his midsection before stepping in.

It was a minute or so after he’d settled in that a pair of long legs walked past his peripheral vision-- he recognized those freckles.  His eyes followed them up, stopping maybe a little too long in two particular spots on the way to admire her choice in swimwear before coming to a rest on the girl’s face.  “Mind if I join you?” Pepper asked, one hand poised on her hip, the other cradling her martini.

Bruce removed the bottle from his lips with a pop before clearing his throat and giving a “Not at all.”

The redhead slipped in across from him.  “Tony’ll be here in a minute,” she said, removing the stick from her drink to nip an olive between her teeth.  “He’s just dealing with the pizza.  Oh!” her green eyes spotted Natasha striding in past Clint.  “‘Tasha, over here!”  She waved her arm.

Natasha’s eyes locked on to the source of the sound immediately.  She raised an eyebrow, noting the cheerleader’s casual tone.  Likely this had nothing to do with their earlier discussion, which was... good.  She also noticed Bruce sitting in the hot tub alongside Pepper.  She had never gotten her answer as to what Tony and Bruce had been up to earlier in the kitchen pantry, though she had a few theories.  It was strange, knowing that, to see him sitting in close and friendly proximity with what Natasha had previously believed to be Tony’s _ex_ ex girlfriend.

Keeping her thoughts to herself, she strode casually to the hot tub at Pepper’s beckoning, “Yes?”

“Come sit with us,” there was an almost mischievous twist to Pepper’s lips.  Bruce certainly lifted an eyebrow when she scooched up beside him; he could feel his blood heating even though he was surrounded by hot water.  It was hard _not_ to the think of the night they’d had the threesome.  “Right next to Bruce,” Pepper indicated as she sipped her martini again, “I want to see just how jealous we can make Tony.”

Natasha chose not to ask questions.  Excessive talking got in the way of listening, and some answers came out easily enough on their own, “So what are you proposing?”

“Just let Bruce put his arm around you,” she smirked.  “That’ll be enough.  You _know_ what a thing Tony has for redheads.”

“What if _I_ say no?” Bruce chuckled.

“Are you gonna say no?” Pepper asked, leaning into him a tad and pawing a hand over his chest.

He blinked and revised his statement, “I am not.”  He set down his drink and lifted his arm so he could drape it over Pepper’s shoulders.

Natasha shot a careful look towards the door.  Clint was still standing guard, facing the other way.  She rolled her eyes when she realized how silly she was being.  It was just a stupid prank, and she and Clint weren’t... serious... anyway.  She shrugged silently, “The payoff had better be worth it, otherwise you both owe me big.”

“Oh shush, you know it’s going to be hilarious,” Pepper waved dismissively.  “Come on, quick, before he gets here!”  She grabbed for Natasha’s hand to pull her in. 

The crimson redhead reluctantly shed her resistance, clinging sensually to Bruce’s side and following Pepper’s example to a T.  Bruce sat rather dumbfounded between them-- he couldn’t claim some part of him wasn’t enjoying the playful affection now being given to him from both sides, even if it was for the sake of appearances.  He had a girl on each arm-- redheaded ones at that.  Probably looked like prime material for a photoshoot in the next ‘Raunchy Red-Heads’ issue.

It didn’t take long for Tony to notice when he entered, eyebrows furrowing visibly, even from a distance.  It was almost comical.  His expression, paired with his attire (he was clad in a band tee, jeans and flip-flops, _noticeably_ overdressed for a pool party) made him stand out among the crowd like comic sans in a scholarship essay.  He took a moment to relax his features and sauntered over, “Having fun?”

The remark sounded playful enough, but Natasha noticed the tension in Tony’s jaw.  Having moved to the US five years prior without knowing a word of English, she’d learned to read faces pretty quickly.  Pepper had been right; Stark was jealous.  Letting out a vacuous giggle that made her own stomach turn, she clung just a little tighter to the bewildered Bruce, wrapping a curl of his hair around one of her fingers, “Just showing your friend a good time.”

“Oh yes, a very _very_ good time...” Pepper followed up, and damn her if Bruce didn’t physically jump a little when he felt her fingernails slide up along his thigh beneath the water’s surface.

Tony bit his lip. This was why he’d forged all those notes from his dad when P.E. was doing swim classes, because damn it if his his libido wasn’t screaming for him to strip naked and get in between them _all_ in the dirtiest way possible.  “Well, I appreciate it, girls.”  Pepper gave a little pout-- she’d been hoping their antics would get a better reaction out of her ex, but oh well.  Tony turned to go, “Anyway, I’m gonna go grab a beer--”

Natasha smirked.  This _was_ entertaining, but she wasn’t done with Tony yet.  She leaned over and reached out for his ankle, latching onto his leg, “Oh come on Tony...  You’re not still _mad_ at me, are you?  Join the party; let me make it up to you.  I can be really nice, if you _let_ me.”  She gave his leg a little tug.

Bruce nodded in agreement.  “Yeah, go grab a beer and join us.  You can have... um...” he glanced at Nat and then Pep, trying to decide between the two.  “Er... Pepper.”  The strawberry blonde gave a snort of disbelief, the commentary earning him a splash in the face.

Tony had frozen as soon as he’d felt the pull.  He wasn’t liking where this was going at all.  There was a reason he wasn’t swimming, a very big reason.  He tried to tug his leg away politely, but the girl held tight.  He had to fight back the urge to kick her off of him and scramble away.  “That’s okay.  I can’t.  I have to go and--”

Natasha didn’t relent, tugging a little harder, “Aww, please?”  At this point she was starting to wonder if Tony was really as big of a playboy as the rumors suggested.  It didn’t seem like it.

“Let go,” Tony issued sternly, attempting to shake his leg out of her grasp.  “ _Please_ ,” he pleaded, stumbling a little, eyes widening fearfully.

“Let him go, ‘Tasha, he doesn’t want to,” Pepper said.  She actually knew darn well why he didn’t want to, and things had turned in a direction she definitely hadn’t meant for them to.

“Oh come on, Tony.  ‘Live a little’,” she quoted him from when she’d overheard him and the others doing shots.  Tony’s jaw clamped tighter, the knuckles on his fists whitening.  She went on.  “What, are you afraid of getting a little wet?”

Those words clued Bruce in to what Tony _was_ afraid of-- displaying his scar.  Bruce hadn’t thought a thing of it!  Why should he?  To him it was just another part of his best friend.  But it stood to reason that Tony _hadn’t_ forgotten.  He began to stand.  “Hey, give us a sec, okay?” he said to the two girls before throwing his towel back around his middle.  He escorted his friend out of earshot.

Natasha watched with a raised eyebrow as the two walked off, torn somewhere between curiosity and concern.  Mild concern.  Very mild.  Stark was hiding something, and with that level of apprehension it was probably something pretty juicy.

Tony took a few tense moments alone with Bruce to steady his breathing.  “Sh-she doesn’t know about--  They--”  He shook his head quickly, “ _Nobody_ knows...  Wh-what if... what if...  Fuck, I don’t know...”  The teen ran a hand roughly through his hair, trying to find some intelligible way to express his chaotic thoughts.

Bruce put a steadying arm around his friend, just hoping to get him calm again.  “And nobody has to know if you don’t want them to.  That’s fine.”  He clicked his tongue to himself self-deprecatingly.  “I’m sorry.  I... actually forgot at first.”

Tony chuckled nervously.  Fear was still coursing through his veins, but the unintentional sentiment which that statement held actually made him smile a little.  “It’s actually kind of nice to know you forgot.  It means it’s not always on your mind.” 

“Heh... here I was worried you’d think I was being insensitive...” Bruce murmured.  “But really, if it makes you more comfortable, you can just roll up your pantlegs and soak your feet instead of getting in; I don’t think anyone’s going to make a big deal out of it one way or the other.”  Bruce poked at the inside of his mouth with his tongue, still feeling like a bit of an idiot.

“You... you might be right.”  Tony sighed out heavily, “I mean, what the Hell’s the point if I can’t be comfortable in my own skin, right?”  He didn’t sound so sure of the statement, but he believed it, and he _wanted_ to feel that way some day.  As scary as the idea was, it was a start, if a frightening and potentially disastrous one.

Bruce reached out to lace his fingers with his friend’s.  “Well, it goes a bit deeper than just skin.  I know that.  You have every reason to want to hide the operation.”  Heck, the fact he’d ever found out had been a complete fluke.  He remembered Tony’s anger when he had, and then the chance Tony had taken in telling him about his hereditary condition.  He also remembered how shy the boy had been showing his scar to him the very first time.  And then the way his friend had responded when he’d touched and licked it during their first night together...  Now there was such a level of comfort between them about it that neither of them really had a second thought about it in private.  But it had always been _in private_.

“Yeah I know, but...” Tony shrugged.  The walk back felt like it was going to be a death march.  “I don’t know.  I’ll just get undressed, hop in, and maybe she won’t even notice.  Or ask.  Maybe _nobody_ will...”

Bruce felt a ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.  “You sure?”

Tony rubbed the back of his neck, looking Bruce dead in the eyes.  He was obviously still scared, but he’d decided already.  The question didn’t really need to be asked, but he attempted to vocalize it anyway, “You’re gonna be...”

“Right beside you,” Bruce finished.  “Yeah.”

Tony exhaled, “Yeah.  Okay.”

Bruce chuckled.  “Need a swig?” he offered out his opened bottle.

“Thanks,” Tony responded earnestly.  He accepted the bottle gratefully and took a very generous couple of swallows.  “Okay.  Let’s go back before I change my mind.”

Bruce nodded and followed alongside his friend as they went back to the hot tub.  A few more people had slipped in while they were conversing: Steve, Phil and Thor-- the last of which was ecstatic beyond all reason.  “Sir Anthony, I had heard many a tale whispered of the magnificence of your bubbly-tub cauldron; still, to experience it firsthand, I fear the rumors pale in comparison!” he roared, slinging an arm around Steve’s shoulders.  The other blond was slouched in his seat and scrunching his face in a way that said that he was on the verge of a giggle.  His face was warm and rosy, just as likely from the alcohol consumption as it was from the heat.  Phil reached up politely as possible to remove Theodore’s arm from Steve’s shoulders.

“Yes, _Sir_ Anthony,” Natasha stressed as she folded her arms across her chest, “Who won’t even get _in_ his own hot tub.”

For a brief moment, Tony felt the fear double at the sight of the larger audience, but a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder reminded him he wasn’t alone.  “Scoot over, Romanoff,” he shot back, tugging up the hem of his shirt.  Pepper’s reflexive gasp was nearly lost over the whirring of the jets and the overall din of the party guests, but Tony heard it all the same.

He took one last deep breath and pulled it up and over his head, kicking off his flip flops.  He didn’t make eye contact again until he’d shucked off his jeans and slid into the hot tub next to Pepper, leaving enough room to his other side for Bruce to sit.  It was a strategic positioning, flanking himself with the only two people present who knew already.  He folded his arms over his chest instinctively and gave Romanoff his best poker face, “Satisfied?”

“I...” Natasha looked confused, large lips pursed in concentration as if she studied him long enough she could figure out the move he had seemingly just pulled on her in front of everyone.

Pepper leaned over to murmur into her ex’s ear, “Tony, how much have you had to drink?”  God, she hoped he wasn’t doing anything he was going to regret in the morning...

“I’m fine,” he mouthed back, though he had to resist the urge to grab her hand, instead clenching his bicep a little tighter.  She almost didn’t seem convinced, a worried look pinching at her features.

“You’re hiding something...” Natasha said with unwavering certainty.  His clothes were off now, but something about Stark was still definitely off.  Her scrutinizing gaze didn’t waver, and Bruce readily got back in to block her view of the other boy.

“If you need someone to ogle...” Bruce led in, lifting his arm to drape it over her shoulders as it had been before.  With lightning reflexes, she grabbed his wrist and leveraged against his elbow, dunking Bruce face-first into the water.  Tony had to resist laughing at the big guy’s expense; so much for his success using pick-up lines. The staring of the occupants of the hot tub reminded Natasha to let Bruce go, and his head popped back above the surface with a shake that sent droplets zinging in all directions.  Phil took the opportunity to scooch a few more inches away from the scarlet redhead.

Pepper cleared her throat.  “Well, it looks like there’s room for one more.”

“Did someone say ‘room for one more’?!” Clint exclaimed, bounding over.

“Oh good Lord...” Pepper dropped her face into her hand.  Barton had probably been the _last_ person she wanted to share company with right now (with the possible exclusion of Happy, but it was a close, close race).

“Hey!” Tony glared, “You’re supposed to be watching the door!”  
 “Where’s it going to go?” Clint smart-mouthed.

“I meant watching the line at the door,” Tony growled.

“I got a few buddies to cover for me.  Logan and Scott are taking first shift.”  He turned to wave at the two of them, who waved back enthusiastically.

“They better not let anyone slip in,” Pepper narrowed her eyes at him, not trusting his judgement.

“They won’t,” Natasha said emotionlessly, though there was fire in her eyes.

Clint stripped down quickly, plunking down next to Natasha, letting out a groan as the heat soaked into him, “Fuck that’s nice...  Tony, your house is awesome.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Tony deadpanned.

Clint let out a long sigh of contentment and lolled his head back.  He went quiet after that, and just when the others assumed he was done talking was when he raised his head once more, “So what the Hell happened to your chest?”

Tony froze, sinking lower into the water and drawing his arms tighter over himself.  “I... uhh... what?” he bluffed poorly.

“Don’t be dumb.  That monster scar on your chest.  I saw it from the door.”  He pointed to his eyes as if to say ‘Duh.’, “That’s gotta be one Hell of a story...”

“Are we trading tales?” Theodore lit up at the thought, “Because I have many a battle scar to share and I warn you, they are not for the faint-hearted!”  He began to lift his arm out of the water to display a mark in his left lat muscle.  “My brother Loki once--”

“No, not you,” Natasha dismissed and the recently-shorn blonde deflated; her eyes locked intensely on Tony, “You _are_ hiding something.  I knew it.  What is--”

“It’s not important,” Bruce spoke up defensively for his friend.  Pepper nodded in solid agreement.

Tony felt the panic starting to set in.  He glared daggers at Natasha, arms leaving his chest for a brief moment for him to jab a threatening finger inches from her face, “It’s none of your damn business what it--”

“By the Gods, Sir Anthony!  What could cause such a magnificent war wound?!  Was it a battle axe?” Thor spoke as he leaned closer, gawking.

“More like a chainsaw...” Clint remarked.

Bruce cringed.  Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all... he needed to put a halt to this before Tony got really upset.

“Guys, settle down,” Steve interrupted in a moment of lucidity, causing everyone to turn their heads.  “It’s just the scar from his open-heart surgery,” he explained frankly, though a bit louder than he’d likely intended.  The mood of the situation was sobering him, and he wasn’t looking to have anyone kill this buzz so soon.  He hoped Tony had another bottle of green apple whatever-it-was waiting in the wings.

Bruce and Pepper’s eyebrows rose simultaneously, both thinking the same thing: How had Steve gotten a hold of that information??  Unless the teenage boy was letting a _third_ person into his pants he hadn’t told _either_ of them about.

Tony was the only one to speak on that thought, “How the fuck did you know that?”  He didn’t sound angry, so much as shocked and confused.

Steve studied the floor of the jacuzzi intently, “I hit you in the chest when we were playing dodgeball back in like fifth or sixth grade.  I told my dad when I got home, because I usually sucked at dodgeball and I was kind of proud of myself.  He freaked out and said I needed to be more careful because I could’ve killed you or something, and he told me you had heart surgery when you were eight years old.  I didn’t really think it was a big deal, cuz you walked it off and everything.”  Steve snorted, “I even asked you if you were okay the next day.  You probably don’t remember that far back but...”

Tony did remember, or at least it was coming back.  He snorted, “Oh no, I do.  I told you I was fine, because you throw like a pussy.”

Steve continued to laugh, “You’re an asshole.”

The other occupants of the jacuzzi exchanged looks as the two shared the awkward laugh.

“So it’s not from a chainsaw, then...” Clint prodded.

“No.”  Tony glared.

“Well shit,” Clint shrugged, defeated, “I was gonna go next, but that’s impossible to beat, at least as far as scar stories go.  I mean, I have a few involving broken bones, like the time I was tight-rope walking along a powerline?  You know, birds don’t get shocked when they perch because they’re only touching one of the wires...”

Bruce felt the need to interject and elaborate.  “Yeah, that’s a simple matter of positive and negative currents.  If you bridge the two, you create a shorter circuit for the electricity to follow.”

“Thanks for the science lesson, brainiac.   _Anyway_ ,” Clint continued, “I started to lose my balance, and I stepped on one of the other wires.  I got a totally gnarly shock before hitting the ground and breaking my right arm.  Split my ulna clean in half.  It.  Was.  Wicked.”

“Idiotic stunts aside,” Natasha arched a brow at her ‘boyfriend’, preferring he didn’t spend the rest of the night telling their classmates _every_ stupid thing he’d done, “It figures Tony Stark has to outshine everyone else again.”

Tony gaped, “You mean you’re not going to treat me like some kind of a-- I don’t know... sideshow act or something?”

“You already get enough attention, Stark.”  Natasha rolled her eyes, hoping she was taking the correct route, “A _second head_ couldn’t make you stand out any more than you do already.”

And just like that the group of teens seemed to have forgotten about the mark on his chest, devolving into playful chatting and drinking and splashing.  Tony couldn’t have been more relieved-- he’d been dreading _that?_  He smiled at Bruce, who caught the gesture and smiled back.

“We should play a game,” Clint whined, “I’m booored!”

Romanoff’s eyes glimmered.  “Truth or Dare?”

“No,” Pepper vetoed flatly.

The crimson redhead folded her arms.  “Fine.  Then what do you suggest, Ms. Bossy-I’m-going-to-run-my-boyfriend’s-party-for-him-Control-Freak?”

Pepper didn’t even bother to dignify that with a response.  Instead she plucked the beer from Tony’s grip, downed the last two swallows before he could protest, and recapped it before floating it in the middle of the spa.  “We’re all single here, right?”  She looked challengingly at the other girl, “Let’s play Spin the Bottle.  You go first.”

Natasha returned the look, and the two stared at each other for a moment, neither refusing to back down.  “Fine,” Natasha finally relented, giving the bottle a little spin.

“Wait, wait,” Steve interrupted, “How does this game work?”

“Oh my Goood,” Tony groaned, “You mean you don’t know?!”

Theodore sought to explain, “The bottle is set into motion by one, and they must kiss the one whom the neck of the bottle points to once it has ceased its revolutions.”

“So... you mean the end that’s pointing at Pepper?” Steve asked as the bottle had finally slowed to a stop.  “Does that mean they have to kiss?” Steve looked around befuddled, “Do the rules really work that way for two people of the same sex?”

Normally Tony would have told Steve to shut up by now, but the present situation left him struggling to resist the urge to bounce in his seat, and without looking he knew he and Clint were sporting the same bobcat grin.  Pepper and Natasha locked green eyes across the hot tub, as if fate had conspired against them, karma’d for their spat.  Bruce chuckled, “Well, those were low odds,” commenting on the fact that the only two girls seated in the spa had, by chance, been selected.  He was lucky Natasha didn’t dunk him again.

“Rules are rules, ladies,” Clint added smugly.

“Don’t get too excited,” Natasha warned with an eyeroll, before reaching out to cup Pepper’s cheeks delicately, “If she does better than you, you can find your own ride home.”

Pepper gave a soft little snort, cocking a thin eyebrow.  “I can’t imagine it’d be too hard to top,” she said before sealing her mouth on Natasha’s.

Clint folded his arms petulantly as he watched.  “See, now I _want_ to stay mad at them, but...” he gestured towards the two, as if the entire group wasn’t already gawking.  Steve was blushing furiously and trying to hold back a fit of giggles, while Tony muttered something under his breath about how he shouldn’t have left his phone in his room to charge.  Bruce gave a little wolf-whistle to egg them on.

The two girls played along for a little longer (what with having an audience and all) before breaking apart.  “There,” Natasha said as if it were settled, and she promptly seized the beer bottle to hand it off to Clint.  “Enjoy.”

“Wait, so do I still get a ride home?” the pointy-nosed boy inquired.

Natasha didn’t answer that question, hiding her smirk beneath an aloof poker face.

Pepper wasn’t nearly as tactful, “Well, I guess it depends on who that bottle points to.”

“Yeah, okay.”  Clint rolled his eyes as he spun the bottle.  It was only after he’d given that brief flick of the wrist that he gained renewed awareness of the male-to-female ratio in the hot tub.  “Wait, wait, wait!  I forfeit!” he shouted, putting his hands up in surrender.  “Someone else can have my spot; I’m gonna go back to watching the door!”

“Denied,” Pepper chimed, followed by Steve making an obnoxious buzzer noise as if he’d answered incorrectly on a gameshow.

“You take one step out of this hot tub and we’re on sex hiatus for the rest of winter break,” Natasha threatened in a low rumble, “I’m not interested in a guy who’s not secure in his sexuality.”

“That’s right.  You didn’t hear _us_ whine,” Pepper added.  “Now you’re going to kiss--” she paused to glance at who the neck of the bottle had stopped on before turning her glare back to Clint, “Phil, and you’re going to fucking like it.”

“It’s scary when they work together...” Tony murmured in Bruce’s direction.

The boy who’d been so shy and quiet up until now gave a little jump at the utterance of his name; his blue eyes snapped to the teen seated beside him.  “W-what?”

“Rules are rules guys...” Steve sing-songed, patting his friend lightly on the back, before snorting a giggle.  Phil shrunk a little more.

“Ugh, _groooss_...!” Clint complained vocally.  Briefly he considered if hiatus _would_ be worth getting out of it.  But he really, really, _really_ liked sex with ‘Tasha.

“Oh grow up,” Tony jeered, “It’s just a kiss.”

“Yes, go on and seal thine lips!” Theodore boomed, “Some of us rally for our turn at the Game of Spinning Bottles!”

Pink-faced, Phil turned his head towards Clint, screwing his eyes shut and puckering his lips in wait for the inevitable, just hoping it would be over quickly.

“Don’t get shown up by a couple of girls,” Natasha added, “See? Phil’s ready.  Aww, look at him, he’s kind of cute.”

“Everyone’s waiting on you to ‘man up’, or whatever it is you boys like to call it,” Pepper tacked on, not missing a beat.  Tony made a mental note not to piss off both of these girls at once.  Ever.

Clint let out a frustrated groan.  “Fine!”  He grabbed Phil by the back of the neck and gracelessly pulled their faces together, their lips pressing together lamely.  It wasn’t a peck so much as it was a bump, and he pulled away just as quickly.  Coulson’s eyes popped open.  “There,” Clint spat, wiping his mouth several times with the back of his hand.  “Take your stupid bottle,” he shoved it at the boy he’d just smooched who was next in line, “I’m outta here--”

“That wasn’t a kiss,” Natasha deadpanned.

“Yes it was!” Clint argued back.

Natasha rolled her eyes, “Maybe for your grandmother.  You’re supposed to kiss him like you kiss me.”

Clint stared at her incredulously, “I am not gonna drag him into a locker room and start groping his boobs, Nat...”

“Okay, I’m willing to let Clint take a free pass if he doesn’t bring that up again in my hot tub,” Tony uttered.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Clint exhaled in relief.  The two girls shrugged, the lighter redhead thanking the darker wordlessly for turning the bottle from her to Phil while Clint was distracted whining about forfeits.

“I just hope I don’t roll you on my turn.”

“Me neith--” Clint started, but was interrupted by the inevitable punchline.

“You look like a really shit kisser.” 

Bruce snorted, but said nothing.  Clint silently flipped Tony the bird and went back to pouting.

Phil looked nervously at the bottle now in his hands, fighting the urge to let his eyes roam to the one person in the jacuzzi he _wanted_ the end to point to.  With a rough swallow, he wordlessly floated it to the middle and gave it a timid spin-- not too hard, but light enough he was hoping it would make just shy of two rotations.  Everyone watched it go around, and it began to slow as it span past him, making his heart plummet... it wasn’t going to make it another 315°...

Pepper’s brow arched as the bottle came to a halt pointing at her.  “Again?”

“I always said you had a magnetic personality, Pep,” Tony elbowed her with a grin.

She laughed and shook her head.  “Oh whatever.  Come here, Phil,” the strawberry blonde spoke sweetly.  She waded out towards the middle and the boy came to meet her.  Without anywhere near the amount of dramatics, Pepper gave him a soft, lingering kiss before they pulled apart and went back to their seats, Coulson shifting a little disappointedly as he passed the bottle to his admiree.

“Alright, my turn,” Steve said with alcohol-boosted confidence.  He almost sounded a little excited too.  He set the indicator in the center and gave it a good twist, sitting back to watch it spin round and round until he almost got dizzy watching it.

“Jeez, Rogers, think you could’ve spun it a little harder?  We’re gonna be here all night,” Tony teased.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Steve tried to explain, “I’ve never played befo...”  His words trailed off when he realized the bottle had slowed to a stop, and it took him another two beats to realize who it was pointing at.

Phil.

The boy’s blue eyes were as wide as saucers and his face had gone from pink to red.  He was sitting in straight-backed shock against the wall of the hot tub.

“Guess I’m not the only one it’s drawn to,” Pepper commented.  She threw her ex a look, “It must be _killing_ you to not be getting any of this action.”

“Just a little,” Tony teased.

In the midst of the conversation, Steve had turned to face Phil, who had once again welded his eyes shut, though this time for a very different reason, because if he established eye-contact...  “Hey, relax,” the blond laughed, causing Phil to wince his eyes open.  “It’s just a kiss, like Tony said.”

“I-it’s not th...” Phil started to whisper back, but his words were swallowed up when Steve pushed their lips together.  Coulson’s mouth fell open, arms and shoulders sagging as his resistance was shed all at once, and after a couple of jaw motions, Steve separated them.  The boy looked like he’d died and gone to Heaven-- that was how utterly blissful his face was.  Steve just gave Phil his award-winning smile and a couple pats on the back as he tossed the bottle to Theodore.

With a mighty flick of the wrist, Thor sent the bottle spinning at a dizzying rate, opting to get right down to business as opposed to making any comments beforehand.  He showed some vague signs of hesitance when the bottle came to point at Steve, but he said nothing.

“M-me?  Again already?” Steve chuckled nervously.  “Jeez, I g-guess I have all the luck.”

“I’m starting to wonder if there’s a reason I’m here,” Tony said flatly, drumming his fingers against the ridge of the spa, though he probably should have just been glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of Rogers’ earlier spin.

“Maybe we’re sitting near a water jet,” Bruce postulated, eying where they were seated.

Thor ignored the line of topic and, blushing lightly, seized initiative.  He cupped the back of Steve’s neck and pulled him in with little warning.  The kiss itself lasted about three seconds, with an eager fervor, and when Thor finally pulled away, he looked almost pleased with himself.  “Wow,” Steve commented with a blink when he’d been let go.

“Dude,” Clint commented, once he was done gaping, “What the Hell was that about?”

“Teddy actually knows how to ‘man up’, unlike _you_ ,” Pepper lampooned, snatching the beer bottle for herself.

“If I am to do something, I intend to do it well,” Thor responded, thumping his chest.  It wasn’t the most honest of answers, but it was far from a lie.

Steve laughed, “Well you certainly did that.”

Thor nodded, “Gratitude.”

Pepper placed the bottle in the middle of the spa and gave it a purposeful whirl-- she was honestly having a great time and didn’t mind at all that this would be her _third_ kiss of the game.  If she’d accepted Happy’s proposal the way he hoped she would, she certainly wouldn’t have been ‘allowed’ to play at all, he would’ve told her no.  No fun, no games, no freedom.  She snorted internally at the thought.  When her glance flicked back up to the decelerating bottle, its muzzle was pointed at none other than Bruce.

A lecherous smile pulled across her thin lips.  Okay, that was a fun twist.  Bruce’s gaze lifted and melded with hers; it was clear their thoughts were the same.  Because the one thing they _hadn’t_ done the night of the threesome was anything involving the other; they’d stayed on opposite sides of Tony.  Bruce cleared his throat-- this would either send his friend into a tizzy of arousal or irritation, he really wasn’t sure which, but he was kind of curious to find out.

Communicating wordlessly, he and Pepper leaned in toward one another to meld mouths, which just so happened to be-- thanks to Tony’s seating choice-- inches from their shared partner’s face.

Tony leaned back and trained his eyes away, feigning disinterest, though his eyes compulsively glanced back every so often.  Pepper tilted her head into the kiss as she wound her fingers through the young man’s hair, giving a hum when his palm traced down along her neck to rest at her collarbone.  She offered Bruce her open mouth, which he took, tongue slipping in to find hers.  A chorus of ‘Ohhh’s and other catcalls rose from the tub’s occupants.  Tony cleared his throat as he adjusted his positioning to accommodate for crossed legs.  It didn’t look like either boy nor girl had the intention of pulling back, the thick and thin lips busy on one another.

“Alright, break it up.  If Stark squirms any harder his dick is going to chafe,” Natasha commented dryly from the sidelines.

Bruce popped his and Pepper’s mouth apart to glance over at his friend to confirm that claim.

“Just anxious for my turn,” Tony explained, glaring at Natasha.   _‘In more ways than one.’_  He spun the bottle and sat back, seemingly unconcerned with where it ended up.  He couldn’t help but snort a laugh when it stopped finally.

“No,” Clint said.  “Hell to the motherfucking no!”  The archer stood to run, but Tony affixed him with a glare.  It wasn’t his prime pick, but it would definitely be entertaining in its own way.

“You hop out of this jacuzzi and you might as well keep hopping ‘til you’re out the front door.”  Tony shot a glance back to Natasha, “Right?”

“You invited half the county to his party without his consent,” Natasha shrugged, “And he’s the only one who hasn’t gotten to kiss anyone yet.  It’s the least you could do, Clint.”

“‘Tasha!” Clint gaped at the betrayal, as Natasha sat back and flashed him a look that only he knew the true meaning behind.  He sighed, defeated.  “Fine, but no tong-- Ah!” he yelped when Tony advanced on him.

“Yeah, I got tired of waiting,” Tony rolled his eyes, plunging down to claim the archer’s lips before he had another second to protest.  Tony went a step further and straddled the other teen to prevent easy escape.  Once he’d decided to himself that the teen under him had been traumatized enough, he pulled away.  “And _that_ is how you’re supposed to kiss a person,” he gloated.

Clint just stared back at Tony, eyes wide, mouth open wider, likely trying to process what the Hell had just happened.

“Here you go, big guy,” Tony placed the bottle into a chuckling Bruce’s palm.

“Nice one,” he imparted to his friend before giving it a twirl.  He was last in line and everyone in the hot tub waited with bated breath to see who the nozzle would end up pointing to.  Neither he nor Tony expected it to return right back to the owner of the hot tub.

Pepper did her best to muffle her laugh into her arm for the boys’ sake.

"Well..." Tony started, the idea of kissing his friend a great deal more awkward with an audience.

“Yeah...” Bruce vocalized.  This was going to be... challenging.  After all, he enjoyed kissing Tony a great deal, but no one besides Pepper knew that.  And kissing him just the ‘right amount’, not too little, not too much was going to be a bit difficult to gauge.  It also didn’t help that since their little foray into the pantry, he hadn’t gotten any affectionate contact between them and was, by now, craving it.  He chuckled awkwardly and nudged his face in ninety-percent, eyes locked with the other boy’s.

Tony wasted no time in covering the remaining ten percent, and tacking on an extra five.  If either of them seemed too hesitant, their peers would get suspicious.  However, Tony’s eagerness caught Bruce off-guard, erupting what felt like an entire _colony_ of butterflies in the teen’s stomach.  His eyes shut, losing focus on how long their mouths had been together for, concentrated instead on the feel of Tony’s lips against his and the facial hair tickling his chin.  A soft purr rumbled from his chest as he grabbed his best friend by the jaw and shoved his tongue into his mouth to sweep around, pressing his back against the hot tub.

Tony reciprocated the action eagerly (but not too eagerly), and he let out a tiny laugh into the other's mouth when it occurred to him that this was likely the most, if not the only awkward kiss he'd ever shared with Bruce.

The small laugh brought his awareness back to the surface, and Bruce _forced_ himself to take his mouth off the other boy’s.  His eyes dropped down, spying the sheen the kiss had left on Tony’s lips, and it took significant willpower not to go back for more and instead sit back in the tub the way he’d once been as _if_ nothing had happened.

The group was silent for a moment, until Tony cut in awkwardly, "So... I guess I win, huh?"

“Yeah, you win alright,” Barton snorted.  “At kissing _guys_.”  He stood up and slapped Natasha’s arm, “Marco Polo, you’re ‘it’!”  And he dashed toward the pool.  Natasha rolled her eyes before waving a silent goodbye.  Theodore, Steve and Phil hurried off to join in shortly after.

Pepper smirked at the two remaining boys.  “Should I give you two some alone time?  You seem a little potentially... blue-balled.  And speaking of, shouldn’t the ball be dropping in about an hour?” she queried; her internal watch was impeccable at times, verging on ‘atomic’.

“Shit, already?” Tony groaned.  The night was passing by so fast.

“I think we have some time still,” Bruce said, stepping out and grabbing his towel.  He looked at Tony, “We should probably check to make sure the rest of the crowd is doing alright.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Tony nodded, following Bruce’s lead and stepping out to drip dry, “We’ll be back soon, Pep.  Just make sure--”

“ _Caw-caw!_ ” a familiar shout interrupted from the distance, followed by the sound of a few rockets going off.

“Was that the roof?  Bruce, tell me that wasn’t coming from the roof,” Tony facepalmed.

“That...” Bruce’s lips twisted, wanting to tell Tony what he wanted to hear but unable to do so.  “Yeah, that sounded like the roof.”

“I thought he was playing Marco Polo...” Pepper frowned, removing herself from the tub as well. She didn’t even dare ponder how the boy had managed to get past Natasha.

The three of them hurried out the back door in their swimwear, towels and bare feet.  Crouched on the shingles of the second story was Clint Barton, using a very familiar zippo to light a fuse on another firework.  He jumped back just in time to not get nailed in the face as it shot up into the air and exploded in a burst of bright sparks.  “Fish _way_ out of water,” Bruce snorted; Pepper snorted right back.

“How in the devil--” Tony felt the overwhelming urge to light up a cigarette... and put it out in Barton’s eye once he was done.  “Bruce, do you have a sm--” he started, but caught himself, eyeing Pepper warily, “--a second?  I’m gonna go check the garage and make sure that prick didn’t steal the ladder.”

“Tony, please,” Pepper rolled her eyes, “If you two want to go off and fool around without me, then just say so.  You don’t have to sneak around and make up stories.”

“Wouldn’t it be out if he used it?” Bruce pointed out, not seeing the ladder anywhere (though at this point he acknowledged ‘going to the garage’ was essentially code for what Pepper was implying).  Several other students gathered on the back porch to find out what the commotion was about.

“Okay, cameras on, people!” Clint shouted through cupped hands, before performing a running jump off the roof.  The party-goers gave a collective gasp of horror, until the teen’s trajectory landed him in the very middle of Tony’s trampoline.  The gravity-defying boy front-flipped off the trampoline and onto the grass with an expert three-point landing.  He stood and combed his fingers through his hair with a shit-eating grin.  “No need to hold your applause!”

“Mystery solved,” Bruce commented as the students behind them began jeering loudly.

Pepper strode out and grabbed Clint by the ear.  “Inside.   _Now_.”  He yelped and flailed as he was drug along.  There was no doubt in either Bruce or Tony’s mind who he was being drug off to, and they could only imagine the awaiting punishment.  The zippo he’d stolen fell into the lawn.

Tony bent to retrieve his lighter.  “Alright, that was... ” he searched for a proper descriptive, but ultimately decided just to let it go.  He let out a frustrated sigh, and nudged his friend.  “Where’s your pack of cigarettes?” he asked.

Bruce hummed out a low note.  “My jacket.  Want to go get dressed and come back out?” he asked perceptively.

“Yeah.  I think that’d be a good idea,” Tony agreed, starting to feel the cold again now that the excitement was over.  “Fucking Barton...” the teenager grumbled as he shuffled back inside.

They got out of their wet clothes and hung them in the laundry room, starting to redress.  “Fun fact,” Tony posed as he toweled his hair off, “Remember the first time we were in that hot tub together?”

“Yeah,” Bruce responded; he remembered quite a few things about that day.  Most particularly the time they’d spent up in the attic and down in the den-- that thought reminded him he was still hoping to get Tony to play for him again in person, rather than listening to the album he’d recorded.  “What about it?”

“Well, you remember how I was about getting naked?” Tony asked.

Bruce laughed out loud, taking a moment to let his eyes rake over his partner’s form appreciatively.  He’d had to practically wrestle the pants off the other boy to get him in a state of undress comparable to his own.  “Actually I do.  You refused to take your trunks off.”

“You ever figure out why?” Tony questioned with a sheepish grin.

Well, it hadn’t been another surgery scar.  Bruce folded his arms with amusement.  “You could just tell me, but I have a guess,” he commented, peering at him sideways.

“Well aside from the fact that I had a pretty steamy sex dream about you two evenings prior,” Tony held up a hand, beginning to count off each finger, “I walked in on you in the shower after you forgot to lock the door, you managed to call me three times in the middle of--” he coughed, “ _deep self-reflection_ that afternoon, forced me to sing a song to you the next day, slung me over your shoulder like the caveman’s wife and tossed me into the deep end of my own pool, then paraded around naked in my pool room without any sort of warning--”

“Wow, I was pretty oblivious back then, wasn’t I?” Bruce chortled, realizing every word of what Tony was saying was true.

“I have no idea how you managed to leave that hot tub a virgin,” Tony concluded.  “None at all.  I was praying you wouldn’t be able to see my hard-on without your glasses.”

Bruce chuckled a few moments longer.  He cast a single wary glance at the laundry room door and stepped in to slide an arm around his friend’s waist.  “I assume you were just afraid of being rebuked.”  He paused a moment, studying the other boy’s eyes for something deeper than what was on the surface.  “Sorry about that.”

Tony sighed contentedly in his friend’s grip, “No, it’s fine.  We can fuck in the hot tub anytime we want now.”  He flashed a mischievous grin.  “It just came to mind that I never told you how long I wanted you.”

Bruce just shook his head before giving his friend’s rump a light smack.  “Come on, let’s get dressed and go have that cigarette.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Tony replied, gently rubbing the spot where he’d been hit.


	34. Chapter 34

The cold winter air was a lot more tolerable when they weren’t mostly naked and dripping wet. Bruce withdrew his pack of smokes and held it open to his friend, letting the boy select one before taking his own. “Thanks, big guy,” Tony said, and Bruce nodded as he put the vice between his lips to hold while he struck a match against the side of the matchbox. He put it to his first and Tony’s after, quickly shaking the flame out once they were both lit.

The two of them smoked in silence awhile, eyes on the blanket of stars above them. As much as Bruce liked bantering back and forth with his best friend, times like this, where they didn’t _have_ to talk and they could understand one another anyway, were really nice too. It was also really nice to take a break from the noise of the party still going on inside the house. He depressed the button on the side of his watch that lit the display light blue so he could see it in the dark-- 11:15 PM. Only forty-five minutes left of 2012. Bruce tapped off his ash onto the ground before glancing over at the teen beside him. “This is going to sound like a weird question...” he led in. “But do you have any New Year’s resolutions?”

Tony wasn’t expecting that question. “Well shit. I guess I hadn’t really thought of any...” He took a drag and allowed himself to contemplate. “I’m guessing you do?” he asked as he exhaled a lungful of smoke.

Bruce gave a nod. He pulled the cigarette from his lips, frowning at it as he twirled it between finger and thumb. “Yeah. I’d like to quit these.”

Tony’s lips tweaked before he nodded. “Well, I’d be happy to help, when the time comes,” he offered; after all, he’d been the catalyst that got the big guy started. He took another long drag as a short silence stretched between them.

“If it’s a New Year’s resolution, that would be in less than an hour, wouldn’t it?” Bruce pointed out with a soft chuckle, taking another long drag and really savoring it. Just saying that had him tempted to chain smoke as many as he could get through before midnight.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Tony chuckled. He thought a moment before holding out his hand expectantly, palm facing upwards.

Bruce eyed it, hesitating just a bit before removing the pack from his coat. His fingers tightened around it. Already he could tell this wasn’t going to be easy. Steeling himself, he handed the paper box over. Tony pocketed it and promptly held his hand out again. Bruce gave a nervous laugh. His new ID. That he’d gotten _just today_. “But what if I need to buy alcohol?” he made the excuse.

“God, you sound like me. Stop it,” Tony snorted. “It’s only until the cravings stop, or you give up and threaten to kill me for it.”

Bruce gave a hard long exhale. He knew Tony was right. If he was really, truly serious about quitting, this was the only way. Slowly he pulled out his wallet and extracted the fake ID. It took a great deal of resolve to hand it over to his friend.

Tony rubbed Bruce’s back sympathetically, “We still have almost an hour, just let me know when you want another one.”

“Y-yeah, yeah...” Bruce nodded uncertainly. He puffed twice in rapid succession and they lapsed back into silence again. Well, for a few seconds.

“You know, I’m actually considering...” Tony mused out loud, before stopping himself. “Ah, shit,” Tony took another drag, waving dismissively, “Just nevermind; it’s stupid.”

Bruce eyed his friend out of the corner of his eye momentarily, briefly considering pursuing the subject anyway, but continued smoking. “Okay.”

Tony raised an eyebrow in spite of himself, “What, that’s it? You just told me your resolution and you’re not even interested?”

“You said ‘nevermind’,” the boy pointed out with infuriating Banner-esque matter-of-factness.

“Yeah, I _know_ what I said, but...” Tony paused-- did he _want_ to tell Bruce, or had he just caught himself thinking out loud again? He sighed heavily and decided it wasn’t worth taking back at this point. “It’s gonna sound stupid, but I’m considering making another attempt at monogamy...”

Bruce’s hand paused on the way to his mouth. “You...” he started but stopped when he realized he hadn’t actually formulated what to say. He stood there frozen, cigarette burning down between his fingers.

“What?” Tony’s eyebrow raised, “What about me?”

“Nothing. I guess I’m just... surprised is all,” Bruce said. He gave himself a quick mental kick for how that sounded; what a way to show his friend his support for a worthwhile goal. And yet what it meant for _him_ was painfully hard to swallow-- much harder than giving up the vice in his fingers. Sure, this had been coming, Bruce had known that, it wasn’t like they could be friends with benefits forever. Eventually they-- _Tony_ would find someone to commit to and he’d get on with the rest of his life. Probably get married, have kids, the whole shebang. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t still be ‘besties’, the sexual aspect would just be absent. This discussion had been brewing since the time Tony had asked him at the mall what his opinion of monogamy was. Still and all, Bruce hadn’t expected it to come up so soon. He put on a poker face and went on. “But I understand. Pepper is... really important to you.”

Tony coughed on a lungful of smoke. “Pepper??” he gaped at Bruce incredulously.

Bruce caught on slowly. “You... you weren’t talking about Pepper?”

“Are you _kidding?_ ” Tony rolled his eyes. “I mean, sure, it may require a little weaning in order to get myself off of her for good,” he coughed an aside-- especially if she kept wearing things like low-backed dresses and bikinis to his house parties-- “but seriously? I’m not saying it’s _going_ to happen, but if it does...” he chuckled nervously, “I just... Pepper’s a good friend.” He put some heavy emphasis on the last two words.

If it was possible, this twist was even harder for Bruce to process. “I thought we were good friends,” he followed up, the implication therein explaining his misunderstanding.

“We are. I just...” This was hard to explain. “Pepper and I have a past,” Tony swallowed hard, “not a future.” He thought back to how their conversation on the top of the Burger King went down. “Her future is with Happy or some other guy who fits with her and doesn’t drive her completely insane. I was just her rebound; eventually she’ll move on," he concluded tersely, but without any malice.

Bruce was wordless a few moments more, occupying his mouth on his cigarette. The fact that Tony had been involved with Pepper was why he’d been so sure that his friend wasn’t looking for any kind of romantic relationship with _him_. Subtracting her from the equation threw that back into question. His words sounded a bit stilted, “So... we’re going to be monogamous. With each other.” It was like asking for clarification that there wasn’t more to Tony’s resolution that the teen wasn’t saying.

"Do you... want to?" Tony asked carefully.

It was impossible to say no, but he was very guarded about giving a straight-up yes. He settled for a chuckle, “Well, I don’t want to stop having sex.”

"Oh thank God..." Tony mocked a sigh of relief, though it was mostly to mask his _genuine_ relief at his friend’s response.

Bruce’s lips tweaked into a little half-smile. He took his last drag down to the filter. “In that case... want to take my mind off _my_ resolution by sticking to yours?” he suggested, dropping the butt and twisting it out underneath his foot.

“I like the way you think,” Tony smirked, miming the action to extinguish his own. He grabbed Bruce by the hand and hurried them indoors. It might have been the alcohol thinking for him, but between how affectionate Bruce had been lately, the overall success the party had been so far (in spite of the fact that Barton nearly ruined it by inviting everyone within a 20 mile radius), and how receptive Bruce seemed to have been to the monogamy bombshell, Tony was feeling impulsive.

Bruce followed along with an almost stupid smile plastered on his features. However when they missed the turn for the stairs up to Tony’s room, his eyebrow tweaked. “Not the bedroom?”

“Nope,” Tony fished his keys out of his jeans pocket, flipping the key for the door to the basement into his fingertips. Bruce felt his heart leap into his throat. If they were going downstairs, was it possible that Tony was going to play his guitar for him? His hand squeezed tighter around his friend’s in almost silent prayer.

Tony felt his friend’s hand tighten around his, and he smiled sheepishly, “I was thinking, maybe you wouldn’t mind a little detour?”

Bruce shook his head side to side emphatically. He’d been wanting this since that visit to Tony’s house in November. Already he found himself wondering what the other teen was planning to play for him, if anything, maybe he was just going to wing it. Either way, Bruce was anxious and thrilled.

Tony chuckled. Speechless. That felt like a first. He ruffled Bruce’s hair affectionately before swiftly unlocking the door, “After you?”

Bruce’s mouth pulled into a wide smile at the questioning inflection. He couldn’t resist the urge; he wound his arms tightly around his friend’s middle and hefted him up off his feet. Tony gave a small yelp of surprise and Bruce shut the door behind them, carrying the other boy down the stairs, only relinquishing his hold once they were at the bottom. “Sorry,” he apologized bashfully.

Tony snorted after finding his footing, “Stop saying sorry. You’re fine.” He pulled Bruce in for a quick peck on the lips for added emphasis.

“Stop saying nevermind and maybe I’ll consider it,” Bruce returned.

It took Tony a few seconds to grasp his meaning, but when the realization hit him, it was a bit of a shock. It was still strange to think that that day had been as hard on Bruce as it had on him.

“Sorry,” Tony responded without thinking.

Bruce set his hands on his friend’s hips. “No, it’s fine, nevermind,” he grinned upon delivery.

Tony tried to force a frown, “I do _not_ sound like that.”

“You sound _exactly_ like that.” 

“You know, for a groupie, you’re really pushing it.”

Bruce gave a long laugh. “Well, as far as I’m aware, sleeping with your groupies-- or should I say groupie, singular-- comes _after_ performances, so...” he motioned at the guitar on the wall. 

“And I only sold one album-- well, two,” Tony corrected himself, “Who gives a fuck anyway?” He rolled his eyes, retrieving his instrument and checking the tuning, “I’m an indie artist. The point isn’t mainstream commercial success; it’s the art.” He paused thoughtfully. “Nevermind the fact that I only cover other peoples songs,” Tony added, before feigning horror, “Shit, I said the ‘N word’ again.”

Bruce just chuckled and found himself a seat in one of the chairs. “Yeah, but I think I can forgive you this time,” he said leaning forward, elbows propped on knees again. He waited patiently, though in his mind he was jumping up and down squealing, just like a groupie _would_ be doing in the concert audience.

“Okay, so being serious now... I thought about it, and I decided my second resolution in all of five minutes.” Tony gave the guitar a strum and frowned absently. Not quite right yet. There were a few loud thumps from upstairs. Tony ignored it. Probably one of the Bilgesnipes running around. Some shouting followed, but he ignored that as well.

“And after you said you didn’t have any,” Bruce said with slight amusement, rubbing his jaw. “So, what is it?” he asked curiously. He expected Tony to say something like practice his guitar more often, or write some of his own songs, which would be neat.

“I want to be able to communicate better. Both of us...” Tony explained, scratching his neck nervously, “Like that night at the levee...” Ugh, maybe he shouldn’t lead off with a _bad_ example...

Bruce’s tongue pressed uncomfortably between his teeth and bottom lip. “Yeah, that... well, it worked out okay.” He mimed his friend subconsciously, reaching back to squeeze at the nape of his neck. Betty’s incredulous words echoed in his head... _‘So he invited you back to his place and just like that you related?’_ They’d jumped into bed with one another without a second thought, nor a word to one another about it until _after_ it had already happened. _‘Promise me you’ll talk to him about what you two are doing. Make sure you’re on the same page.’_ Bruce gave a soft cough. “I think we’ve been doing a little better since then,” he said, knowing full well ‘better’ was not ‘optimal’.

“I like how we are,” Tony replied, but his tone sounded a little less than convinced. “I mean... we could...” he stopped to laugh at how dumb he probably sounded, “You know, I’m used to saying whatever the fuck I want. It should be easy, and I shouldn’t need to sing a song to force it out.”

“I don’t... what?” Bruce tilted his head and that was when a shrill scream sounded from upstairs. He jumped in his chair when the basement door flung open and slammed against the corridor.

“FIRE!”

“God dammit!” Tony growled, standing as the guitar rolled off of his lap, “Shit!” he cursed, looking down at his baby, then glaring back at the source of the noise, “Barton, I swear to God, if this is some sick fucking joke, I--”

“Dude, your fucking drapes are on fucking fire, I’m not joking!”

Bruce stood and hit the stairs two-by-two to make a beeline for the extinguisher in the garage, Tony hot on his heels. “I swear to God, I’m gonna kill whoever’s responsible...” the teen grit out.

“Ehehehehehehe!” a merry cackle was the first thing to greet their ears upon hitting the landing-- the second was the pop and crackle of a ball of blue glitter richotting off the walls of the living room. A crowd of students ducked as it went zinging over their heads, shouting as they scattered. At the center of the chaos was a dark long-haired boy holding several lit roman candles, shooting them in all directions as he giggled to himself.

“LUCAS!!” Theodore’s voice boomed through the domicile; the boy thundered past. Maybe he wouldn’t have to dirty his hands after all, looked like the freshman’s older brother would be plenty happy to do it for him; Tony clicked his tongue. The blond cornered the other boy, “Cease these foolish games and go home!”

“I shall not!” the younger sibling aimed a candle at him, hitting the football player square in the chest. “Not because you tell me to, Odinson. It is hypocrisy most foul! While mother mourns and father curses your name, you seek to cast yourself out? Why not I as well?!”

To everyone but two people in the room, no one had a clue what the two foreign siblings were arguing about. On the other hand, most of them were busy backing away from the leaping flames consuming the drapes and the Stark family Christmas tree.

“What the fuck are you--” Tony began until he noticed the flames catching on the tree. His words dropped off and he literally froze as his eyes took in the sight. Of all the things, expensive, priceless things on the main floor that any of his peers could have destroyed... He couldn’t stomach it. There were so many good memories tied to that tree, memories he could never make again, like the few he’d had with his mother. It was like watching someone set fire to the photo album in his attic. “You fucking bastard...” he hissed, before turning his fury on the arsonist fruitcake who dared to crash his party. In a few quick strides Tony had closed the distance between himself and Lucas Ahlström, a fist connecting with the prankster’s jaw before he could react. “You _bastard!_ Do you have any idea what the fuck you just did?!”

Loki stared at him with incredulous blue eyes, holding his jaw. “Theodore, who is this peasant who dares strike me?” He spat on the ground.

“Peasant?! Oh fuck you, buddy!” Tony lunged forward, “This is _my house!_ ”

“Master Stark,” a heavy hand landed on the middle of Tony’s chest. “I apologize for my brother’s intrusion, but his punishment is not yours to dole out. I beseech you to allow me...”

Tony pushed back, not as hard as he would have if it weren’t a friend holding him back, but hard enough to let Theodore know he strongly disagreed. To his credit, Thor didn’t budge. “Excuse me?! Listen, I don’t know what little sibling rivalry bullshit he’s got going on with you, or why he came here in the first place, but he’s in _my_ fucking house--”

“Coming through!” Bruce pushed past the trio with the fire extinguisher. He pulled the pin and aimed the nozzle at the flaming Christmas tree, hosing it down with the foamy substance and dousing the fire. If it weren’t for the singed and smouldering branches, it would’ve looked somewhat festive.

“There is no need for anger, Master Stark,” Theodore continued resolutely, “Loki is but a child. I shall escort him to our place of residence; my parents shall decide proper discipline for his misbehavior.”

Loki scoffed at his older brother’s words-- they were naught but two years apart! How dare he speak about him this way! As the master of the house and his brother quarrelled, he slipped off unseen.

“Are you insane, or did you not see him set my house on fucking _fire?!_ I think I’m well within my rights!” Tony spat angrily.

Thor’s brow drew down, shoulders squaring. “It was a mere prank gone awry; I warn you, Sir Anthony, do not--”

“Guys, guys! That’s enough!” Steve pushed the two bickering teens apart with his palms. “Don’t you even hear yourselves? You’re both in agreement; Lucas needs to leave the house and the sooner the better.”

“He--” Tony huffed and took a moment to try and calm down, “You don’t understand. That tree is... it’s just important. I can’t buy a new one...”

“Uh... I saved most of it,” Bruce rubbed the back of his head, wincing at the several melted plastic branches. He coughed into his hand, “Sort of.”

“Thanks Bruce,” Tony shot his friend a look of weary gratitude after soaking in the damage to the tree. Well, it was another story at least. He sighed heavily, “Yeah, get ‘Locust’ the fuck out of here before I kill him. And the first person to bring me a beer gets a hundred dollars. I need to sit down.” He flopped onto the couch.

Like that a beer materialized in his hand, courtesy of Clint. “Jesus Christ,” Tony’s eyes widened, digging his wallet out of his back pocket without question. The acrobatic boy gave a squawk of success, dancing with his acquired Benjamin before pocketing it. “Ugh, new money...” Tony mocked, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“Thank you, friend,” Theodore gave a stiff bow, “We shall take our leave and remove ourselves from thine tresses; I assure you, Lucas will see justice.”

“Speaking of... where is he?” Steve questioned.

“I’ve got him.” Natasha parted her way through the crowd, keeping pressure on Loki’s arm, which was twisted behind his back; the freshman hip-hopped on his heels with a whine.

“You guys make for bitching security detail,” Tony remarked towards Natasha and Clint. “Even if you took the liberty of turning this place into an open invitation den of iniquity,” he added, pausing to regard Loki, “I’m just going to assume you didn’t invite him.”

“No, we did not,” Romanoff delivered, glaring daggers at the boy as he traded hands from her to Theodore.

“See you after the ball drops then?” Tony directed towards Thor, trying not to let his eyes rest on Loki for too long.

“You may well. I bid you all a fond valediction!” He marched his younger brother towards the exit.

“Theo!” Rogers interrupted before the other blond could make it all the way out the door. “Hey, you still gonna need a place to crash tonight?”

“If it pleases you to offer, then aye!” Thor grinned, pulling the other blond into a warm hug, “I’d be deeply honored.”

“Alright,” Steve nodded. “Catch you later.” He stepped back and shut the door after the football player.

Bruce found himself a seat next to Tony on the couch after finding himself another beer out of one of the rapidly depleting coolers. He decided to leave the fire extinguisher out, just in case anything else tried to go wrong; it would probably also be best if they continued to supervise the crowd. He checked his watch. 11:40. Bruce wondered if it was possible that he was _actually_ craving another cigarette so soon, or if it was just his imagination playing tricks on him. He scratched at the scruff on his neck and glanced at the pocket in which Tony had stowed his pack. Clicking his tongue in silent chastization, he settled for putting his arm across the other boy’s shoulders.

“I’m stealing one of your confiscated cigarettes,” Tony sighed out, “You want one?”

It was like the teen had read his mind. He drummed out his fingers on his leg. “I’ll be fine. It was your tree.”

“I’ll be fine too, but we decorated it together,” Tony pointed out, before snapping his fingers, “Clint: ashtray.”

“What’s in it for me?” the other boy snorted. “I’m not your carrier pigeon!”

“About twenty five percent less for the attitude,” Tony shot back.

In answer, the heavy glass tray sailed through the air and landed right on his crotch, pre-empting any witty response Tony might have had with a sharp open-mouthed inhalation. For the record, it was never a good idea to insult the Westmore High archery champ. Gingerly he moved the tray from his lap and got out a cigarette.

Pepper appeared, her green eyes narrowed. “And just _what_ is that for?”

Tony fumbled his lighter with a little yelp. He hesitated only a second before responding. “It’s for Bruce.” The big guy made a startled face as the cigarette was jammed between his lips and lit.

She didn’t seem entirely convinced, but dismissed herself. Tony breathed out a sigh of relief and reached for the vice to take it back, but Bruce leaned away from his grasping fingers with a grunt. “Ahh, no,” he chuckled plainly, taking a long drag.

“Change of heart, or do you just enjoy stealing from me?” Tony snorted, pulling the pack back out of his pocket and extracting a second cigarette. He held it between his lips and lit it without hesitation, doubting his father would smell anything in this room over the acrid stink of burnt plastic. Theodore and Lucas’s parents were likely going to get a call sometime tomorrow about the roman candle incident.

“You put it there, it stays there,” Bruce murmured, rolling the cigarette around between his lips.

\--

Everyone stood clustered around whichever TV they were in the room with. Every flat panel had been tuned in to channel three to watch the celebration happening in real time in Times Square. It was less than a minute to midnight, and everyone held their breath, whatever noise-maker they had grasped tightly in their hands as the counter steadily clicked down.

Bruce sat on the edge of his seat. He’d never particularly participated very much in New Year’s celebrations before. It hadn’t really mattered-- he hadn’t had any friends, the new year never really brought anything _new_ , just the same tired story of his life. But tonight, sitting next to Tony and Betty and Pepper and everyone else, a beer in his hands (several more in his stomach) and no curfew, Bruce honestly felt like this year, finally, things might actually be different.

The countdown began. “Ten!” chanted the students of Westmore. Bruce shook his head of his thoughts and joined in, “Nine!”

“Eight!” Betty, Jane and Darcy bounced in their seats. “Seven!” Clint flipped a cartwheel. “Six!” Steve tipped back another bottle of Smirnoff, effectively missing the next two numbers. “Five!” The Bilgesnipes punched the air above them. “Four!” Natasha crossed her arms languidly in an attempt to appear indifferent. “Three!” Pepper chimed, unraveling a noisemaker into the other redhead’s dour face and startling her. “Two!” Phil wrapped an arm around his idol’s shoulders, clinking the blond’s bottle with his own. “One!” Bruce caught Tony looking straight at him out of the corner of his eye and he glanced back, arching an eyebrow. The display flipped to 00 and the boy’s lips were suddenly on his for a chaste impulse-driven instant.

The whole room erupted, “HAPPY NEW YEAR!!” Streamers and confetti and silly string flew wildly throughout the room, a chorus of horns and clappers echoing off the walls. Only one of the party-goers noticed their gracious host being dragged out by his best friend. Pepper just rolled her green eyes and chuckled quietly to herself-- there those two went again. She supposed she could look after the party until they returned. Presuming they weren’t gone too long.

Bruce stopped tugging once they were out of sight of their guests. Tony’s head rolled up to look at him, a Starky smirk the only thing keeping his noisemaker perched between his lips. He gave it a soft blow and Bruce felt himself snort a laugh before plucking it away and flicking it over his shoulder. He gripped the teen by the back of the neck and pulled him into a rough and eager kiss more appropriate to the celebrating going on.

Tony responded passionately, smiling briefly against his friend’s lips as he thought of how much had come to pass in the past few months. He wasn’t going to kid himself in thinking all their problems were over (there were always more problems), but he was definitely looking forward to what the new year would bring, for better or worse. He’d gladly take on whatever troubles should come their way; it felt like, for the first time in a long while, he had things in life worth fighting for.

Bruce hummed as he withdrew, but he rested his forehead against his friend’s as he allowed himself to get lost in Tony’s eyes. “Happy New Year...” he murmured, a tender note to his voice.

“Mm-hmm...” Tony hummed in response, leaning in again briefly for another peck. It turned into three. And a half.

“Shots?” Tony asked almost guiltily as he (reluctantly) pulled away from the kiss.

Bruce chuckled. “Sure, if you want.” This was one of few nights Tony could kick back and drink without guilt; it wasn’t harming anything so Bruce was willing to indulge him. It was endearing to know that Tony was still seeking his approval before drinking, even though he’d already given his friend the green light earlier that night. Besides, he could handle a few more himself.

“Sweet,” Tony giddily retrieved two shot glasses from the sink, and Bruce was already on his way to the liquor cabinet to scrounge around. He pushed the Jameson aside this time in search of something new to try. He was tempted by the Bacardi Coconut Rum and the La Poire Grey Goose Vodka, and again by the Melon Schnapps, but his curiosity was piqued when he happened across a bottle in the back labeled Aguardiente Antioqueño. He brought it back to the kitchen to set on the island counter.

Tony grinned when he set eyes on Bruce’s selection, “Oh ho ho! Looks like someone went digging and found the fire water!” He made a beeline for the fridge and pulled out a jug of orange juice, “Grab two glasses from the cupboard; we’ll need a chaser.” The boy moved to do so.

“Uhh... hey Tony?” a familiar voice asked from the doorway before a blond head poked into view.

“Ah, First Lady,” Tony replied, looking over his shoulder, “What is it? Are people breaking stuff again already? Is there another fire to put out? Someone drowning in the pool? Clint on the roof?” he asked rapidfire, as if he were playing twenty-questions and not waiting for the yes or no answer. “I swear. Tonight,” he chuckled, glancing at Bruce, who joined in. He proceeded to pour orange juice into each of the two cups until they were both halfway full.

“Ah... no, none of that,” Steve replied. “I just wanted to ask you--”

Tony waved a hand dismissively, “Of course you can have a shot; get over here already! Bruce, make it three glasses.”

“That’s not really what I mea--” Steve cut himself off as a glass of OJ and a shot glass were subsequently set down in front of him. He rubbed the back of his head. “Well, alright. Just one. But um, when you’ve got a minute, I’d like to... talk to you about...” his eyes darted towards Phil in the other room (who was already searching for him) and then back, “something.”

“You want my _advice?_ ” Tony marveled.

“He’s either drunk too much or not enough,” Bruce evaluated. Tony chuckled and the two pals exchanged several elbowing gestures with each other.

Steve stared down at his glass of orange juice between his fingers, frowning hard at it. “Listen, if you’re not gonna take it seriously, I can ask someone else.”

Tony’s laughter tapered off as concern and curiosity won over, “You’re serious, huh?”

The blond gave a single hard nod. He tipped back his shot and subsequently almost choked, moisture springing to his eyes. “God, what was _in_ that??” he gasped, throat dry and singed-feeling, staring at the bottom of the tiny empty vessel. He made a grab for his OJ to wash away the aftertaste of black licorice.

“Aguardente, AKA Colombian ‘fire water’,” Tony answered matter-of-factly, “Feel that heat in the pit of your stomach? That’s the best part.”

Steve’s only response was to continue the chugging of his orange juice. Bruce chuckled and took his own shot, flashing a brief grimace at the strength of the beverage. When he recovered, he spoke. “I can give you two some privacy, if you need it,” he said, looking from Tony to Steve; he sensed whatever it was that was on the student body president’s mind wasn’t going to get far with him here in the room.

Tony shot a brief look in Steve’s direction. The kid didn’t look ready to talk with Bruce still in the room. “Yeah, just don’t stray too far,” he nodded, before turning to chastise the blond as he gulped down another mouthful of OJ, “Relax, Steve; it’s not poison. A sip or two is enough.”

Steve set the glass down roughly and exchanged nods with Bruce as the teen took his leave. “Thanks.”

Once Bruce had cleared the doorway, Tony put his full focus on the Class President, “Okay, so what’s up?”

“Well, I know you don’t like to mess around, so I guess I’ll just get to the point,” Steve led in, letting his blue eyes connect with the brown ones across the kitchen island. “Which do you value more? Courage or loyalty?”

“That’s pretty abstract,” Tony snorted, “In what context?”

Steve gestured in front of himself, “Like it sounds. Which would you prefer someone have as a characteristic?”

“I prefer not to compromise one for the other, honestly.”

The blond chuckled down at the countertop-- that was a Stark-ian answer if he ever heard one. “Right. But if that’s not possible and you _had_ to choose just _one_.”

“Okay, so we’re talking unyielding loyalty or unwavering courage...” Tony mused aloud, mulling it over in his head like a word problem. 

Steve nodded confirmingly, “Yeah.”

“Well that’s simple. If someone’s loyal to you, completely, then if you told them to go jump off of a bridge... or kill your neighbor... they would.”

“I would never--” Steve started.

“Hypothetically,” Tony corrected, “Because where courage begins and ends in oneself, loyalty begins and ends with something or someone else. It’s kind of a codependent virtue.”

It didn’t sound very ‘simple’. The student president shifted on his stool uncertainly. “So... which are you for then?”

“Well, while both of them are noble, I guess I’d go with courage.”

Steve sighed out a little groan, sweeping a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if I can do this...”

“Do what?” Tony furrowed his brow, “The Hell was I just the tiebreaker for?”

The blond lifted his head to shake it. “Nothing. I just wanted your opinion was all. And you gave it. So thanks.” He gave his peer an unconvincing smile and pushed away from the counter to make to stand.

“Hey, hey wait,” Tony held out a hand to stop him before he could really comprehend why he even cared.

“What? You have anything else?” the blue eyes honed on the party host. Jeez, they must have run out of liquid apple pies somewhere along the line.

Tony swallowed, pausing a brief moment to contemplate his response, “No, but _you_ do.” He took a chance, “Otherwise you wouldn’t have cleared the room before starting this.”

Steve took two purposeful steps toward the exit, but hesitated on the third. He stared at his feet, letting out a dejected sigh before turning back around. “Here’s the thing. You have two... people in front of you, and you’d really like to have the best of both worlds, but you can’t. So you start to think you shouldn’t have either. That _that’s_ the answer. You don’t pick one or the other, you pick neither.”

Tony took it in silently, processing the information the blond was giving him before responding. “Been there before, actually...” Tony chuckled fondly. Technically he was in the process of resolving the issue... “And polyamory aside, if you’re sure that you can only pick one... just pay attention,” he gave Steve a fraternal clap to the shoulder, “If there’s only one right answer, you might have it already and just not realize.”

“I guess that’s possible,” Steve answered vaguely, though he still sounded down-in-the-dumps. “I just feel like I owe one or both of them an answer before...”

“Before what?” Tony quirked an eyebrow. The alcohol in his system was making this hard to follow.

“Before I graduate at the end of the year and go off to the service.”

Tony couldn’t help the snort that erupted. In his defense, aside from that incident at the bonfire, Steve Rogers seemed near-incapable of any aggressive behaviour. He was pretty much the anti-Bruce. In addition, the mention of the service threatened to bring back memories he’d been fairly successful in burying since the end of sophomore year. He still tensed up every time he passed by the recruiter kiosk at the Westmore High Job Fair.

“Whatever you’re thinking, I don’t want to hear it,” Steve’s expression soured at Tony’s failed attempt to stifle his chortling.

The statement brought Tony out of his internal musings. He shook his head. “Sorry, I just remembered something stupid,” he dismissed, leaning heavily on the last word.

The blond shifted on his feet but resumed. “Anyway... you’re not wrong about loyalty. He’d follow me to the ends of the earth. And I don’t want him to make a life-changing decision for the wrong reason.”

“He.” Tony echoed, “...you mean Phil?”

Steve just gave his peer a look that said he didn’t want to hear _that_ either. “Phil’s a nice kid. He’s just a little... obsessive sometimes.”

“So he’s got a crush on you,” Tony tried, “And you don’t want to blow him off, but you’re afraid of leading him on...”

Steve’s head cocked just that much at the disconnect. “I don’t want to enter into something if I can’t give it one-hundred percent. It wouldn’t be fair to him.”

“Oh.” Tony blinked, “So you... you’re...” He tried not to snicker, because he was pretty sure Steve wouldn’t appreciate the coincidence.

“A God-fearing Christian, but still open-minded,” the blond crossed his arms with a partial glare. “That’s not the issue though. In the case of either of them, I don’t know if I could be dedicated enough; I like them both, but there’s an inequality in how much I like them versus how much they like me. Do you see what I’m saying?” Steve knew the concept was probably going to be difficult for Stark to grasp.

Tony raised an eyebrow, “Apparently it’s been going around.” He sighed and shook his head, “You gotta agree to keep this between you and me before I agree to tell you anything.” Tony stared intently back at the blond, unrelenting.

Steve blinked at the change in topic. He slid back onto his stool. “I can do that,” he said.

Tony scratched the back of his head and stared at the counter, “Okay. And I’m not embarrassed or anything. It’s just that it’s not just _my_ business to be spreading around.”

“What is it?”

Tony let out a stressed sigh, “Well I’m kind of in the same situation. I have to decide between something that’s easy that I know won’t ever work out, and something that’s a lot harder but might actually make me happy.”

Steve frowned-- that didn’t seem like much of a conundrum to him. “Well that _is_ easy. Obviously you make the effort, knowing it will be worth it in the long run.”

“Well I don’t actually know if it’ll be worth it if he doesn’t like me back.”

Steve found himself chuckling; he swabbed the pad of his thumb across the side of his nose. This was amusing for more than one reason. “He.”

“Yeah,” Tony snorted, “It’s not you. Hate to burst your bubble.”

The blond just shook his head. “Well, if I were in your shoes, I’d just ask him if he did. I mean, it’s not worth losing sleep over, right? If he does, great. If he doesn’t, you just move on.” He gestured in the air matter-of-factly. “On my end it’s a bit different, since they both have made it pretty obvious they like me back.”

“You just get all the luck, don’t you?” Tony deadpanned, “But I guess the thing is... I really don’t want to move on. A lot of the things that are going good for me now are because of him. And I know it’s not like my life would be over if he didn’t, but it’d probably suck a lot _less_ if he did.”

Steve had a pretty good feeling at this point as to who Tony was talking about, but he settled for a nod. “I hear you. I guess maybe for both of us time will tell.”

“Well in your case, it’s not such a big deal to just date, non-exculsively. Test the waters and see what you like best. I mean, do either of them know how you feel?” 

He fiddled with his glass. “I haven’t told them, no. But I was hoping to take one of them to prom...” the teen admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Take ‘em both.” Tony snorted, “You’ll look like a total BAMF.”

“Always concerned with appearances, aren’t you, Stark?” Steve shook his head, trying to hide his subtle grin. It really was an unthinkable thing to do, but if he really didn’t have this figured out by then, his options were that or stag. Tony might have a point about dating though, if he spent more time getting to know each, then he might stand a better chance of knowing how to proceed.

“You’d probably feel like a total BAMF too, if that’s any better. Plus, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be the first ‘president’ to tell monogamy ‘No thank you’.” Tony added with a snort, eyes drifting towards the bottle still on the counter, “Do you want another shot?”

The student body president considered it. “Do you have anything less... licorice-y?”

Tony thought for a second, “Was the Jameson okay, or did you want something a little less ‘potent’?”

“Yeah, that was fine,” Steve nodded.

Tony nodded and strode off toward the liquor cabinet, at least until he remembered Bruce was the one with the key. “Right. Just gotta get the key from Bruce,” he called back to Steve before approaching the door the big guy had left through earlier and pulling it open.

His friend was standing nearby, arms folded comfortably and leaned against the wall, half-bottle of beer in his hands-- he hadn’t wandered far, just as Tony had asked. His eyebrows lifted a touch upon noticing him emerge from the kitchen. “Done?”

“Hey, uh... not yet.” Tony glanced at the floor briefly, “I kind of... well I guess there’s some things I need to talk about too. Do you still have the key?”

Bruce nodded. “Yeah. Here, catch.” He fished it out of his front pocket and tossed it to his friend.

Tony caught it after a near-fumble, pulling it into his chest, "Thanks; I'll try not to be too long."

“Take as long as you need; I’ll be around,” Bruce gave him a smile. “And don’t get too far ahead of me,” he added with a grin, inclining his head at said key.

Tony flashed his own smile back, "You got it." He gave a little wave before going back inside.

It wasn't long before Tony had both his and Steve's shot glasses filled. The blond reached for his. “Didn’t bring Bruce back with you?” he asked before tipping it back. He shook his head vigorously at the kick of the alcohol going down his throat. One thing was for sure, those two were like glue nowadays; seeing one without the other was an oddity. Talk about taming the lion. Everyone else at school had had the good sense to leave Bruce alone, but Tony couldn’t resist sticking his head in said lion’s mouth. Now the guy was weirdly... docile, at least most of the time. And in the case of Stark, Steve hadn’t seen him so close to anyone since his former best friend had dropped out to join the military... what was his name again? James... Rhodes? Yes. ‘Rhodey’, that’s what Tony had always called him.

Tony tossed back his shot before responding, "I wanted to ask you something myself."

“Oh, what’s that?” Steve asked, pushing his glass forward and motioning for another. Things were nicer when he couldn’t think as hard.

"You knew this whole time," Tony said, though it really wasn't a question. He poured them both a second shot.

The student president gave an offhanded shrug. “Yeah, everyone has their secrets. Kind of gutsy though, what you did. That something...” he forced himself not to assume ‘Bruce’, “this guy you like helped you out with?”

"Yeah, I guess so," Tony replied. "But you know, for how much of a dick I've been to you all these years... You could've really burned me."

“An eye-for-an-eye isn’t really my style,” Steve answered simply. He threw back the next shot. “Not that I necessarily expected you to ever pick up on that. But someone has to be the bigger man.”

Tony took his second shot, immediately pouring another one, "You're not the better man though; you're just another man." He chuckled, finally coming to the real reason for the conversation, "I noticed it tonight, and its making it hard to hate your guts like usual."

The blond cracked half a smile. “Well I’m sorry about that,” he said with a trace amount of discernible sarcasm (more than he usually ever gave). His words regained their seriousness, “But the feeling is kind of mutual.” It had been easier to get along with Tony as of late, for whatever reason, even if he and his new pal had left enough tinsel to decorate an entire Christmas tree farm in his yard. Steve studied Tony a minute as he swished orange juice around in his mouth. “This guy you know must be pretty great. Otherwise you’d still be that dick, same as before.”

The corner of Tony’s mouth turned upward just a little, “He is. And I don’t know if it was ‘courage’, ‘loyalty’, or the Jameson, but I think you’re just enough of a dick on the inside that I could stand having you over here again.”

“Let’s not get too hasty,” Steve countered jokingly, tossing back the third and plunking it down to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth. He let out a grateful sigh; that fuzzy-headed sensation was returning. “I never knew how great this stuff was...” he mused.

“Well I can’t see you driving home with that much alcohol in your system,” Tony joked right back, taking his own shot, “You could set off a breathalyzer from across the room.”

“So you’re going to make me ‘hoof it’?”

“Thor could always carry you home.” Tony remarked offhand, “Also plenty of room here once ‘Clint Barton Plus Two Hundred’ leaves.”

“I guess I could stay, though I gotta let Theo know...” the blond thought aloud. “Any idea when your dad’s coming back from my place?”

“If he’s had as much as we have, he’s probably crashing over there. I did notice that a Mr. Jack Daniels was absent from roll call when I searched the cabinet for our first round of shots...”

Steve nodded. “Can’t imagine my dad’s too unhappy about that; he’s been itching for an excuse to get together with your dad. He’d been talking about this party non-stop for weeks. Almost got annoying. And the part where my dad said you and I could be as good of friends as he and your dad are ‘if we tried’? I don’t think so. Dad’s just gonna have to accept I’m not like him in _every_ way.”

“You can’t force people to get along,” Tony replied, shaking his head. Even saying that, he knew that much of the animosity he’d had toward the blond stemmed from how his father had treated the two teens after Tony’s first attack. He hadn’t known why then, but it felt like Howard had favored Steve Jr. over his own son, and it led Tony to despise how perfect the boy was. Funny how a little alcohol and some old-fashioned communication can really put things into perspective. “I understand why they care, but they need to let shit happen naturally. Nobody was nagging _their_ asses into hanging out together in high school.”

Steve chuckled. “At any rate, it’s good to have them out of our hair for awhile, even if it’s just for an evening,” he admitted.

“Damn skippy. Thank God for Federal Holidays,” Tony replied enthusiastically, pouring them both another shot and holding his glass up as if he were toasting to the lack of adult supervision.

“Amen,” Steve agreed. He lifted his shot glass up and clinked it against Tony’s.


	35. Chapter 35

They had invited Bruce back to join them for a few more shots upon the amicable conclusion of their chat. Bruce could dimly remember finding it mildly fascinating to see Tony and Steve getting along so well in the aftermath of whatever it was they’d talked about.

“Sorry, guys... m’gonna... m’gonna go find Phil and Theo now,” Steve excused himself on wobbly legs.

“Go get em, kid,” Tony said as he clapped the blond roughly on the back, “Just don’t take ‘em to _my_ bed.”

Bruce watched the exchange with a laugh. When the other boy had exited, he addressed his friend. “You are drunk as a skunk.” Not that he wasn’t heavily inebriated himself, just that... damn, he forgot where he was going with that line of reasoning.

Tony snorted a laugh in response to what Bruce had said, though he wasn’t sure why he thought it was so funny. The big guy joined along in his laughter, the two of them drawing together like opposite poles of a magnet in the center of the room. Jesus, did his friend ever have a nice sounding laugh. And smile. And fucking everything. Somewhere in the fog, Tony remembered the advice Steve had given him. Just ask. God, that made it sound so easy. _‘Hey, Bruce. I was wondering, do you like me? As in, like-me like-me.’_ The words sounded good in his head.

But what if Bruce said no? the possibility hit him. That was the hole in Steve’s logic-- because if he knew Bruce loved him back, he wouldn’t _have_ to ask. Asking was allowing for doubt, and didn’t want to doubt, he wanted to _know_. As things stood, there were only two things that were certain between them: their friendship, and the sex. Hm, now _that_ sounded like a much better idea.

He leered at his best friend, stroking his shoulder suggestively, “So... first fuck of the new year: Yes, no, or later?”

The only thing that compared to Tony’s smirk was Bruce’s. “You’re horny too?”

“Awesome; so since we’re on the same page...”

“No, I meant...” Bruce started to interrupt, and paused to think. “You’re horny... as well as... drunk.” Tony blinked at him in confusion and the teen waved his hand dismissively; it was too complicated to explain in this state. “Yes,” he stuck to answering the question.

Tony’s smirk returned in full force, “I’m thinking bedroom. Questions? Comments?”

“Mm...” Bruce hummed as he processed, “Only why we’re not already up there.” He smoothed his hands down his friend’s sides, feeling his lower body awakening at the proposal.

Tony snorted a laugh and led Bruce out of the kitchen by his wrist. On their way towards the stairs they came across a group of people who were all gathered around the Westmore Bilgesnipes. Fandral was holding a pair of scissors aloft, while Hogun, Volstagg and Sif kneeled with their heads bowed. It looked like some kind of weird-ass ritual on first glance. Fandral seized Hogun’s topknot of hair and with a flourish, chopped it clean off, the boy’s now-short black hair falling down into his face at about cheekbone level. Volstagg was next, and the stout boy bristled at the nearness of the clippers to his face, “Do not touch the beard!”

“I wouldn’t think it!” Fandral flashed a smile before beginning to hack through the tangled crinkly red mane on Volstagg’s skull. After considerable effort, he finished, proudly displaying the triumph over his head like a hunting trophy-- it certainly looked like a dead animal.

“Enough, enough! We’re not done yet!” Sif chided the prancing blond.

“Please, Lady Sif!” Thor pleaded, “I fear you may regret your actions! Unlike your brothers in sport, you are a lady, and as such--”

“I am of the team, am I not? I do not wish to be anything more or less than the rest of you.”

Thor hung his head, “Aye, but I beg of you, allow me to make the cut.”

Fandral looked to Sif, who nodded her head. He handed the scissors to their fellow player. Thor bit his lip and gathered her hair into a ponytail, eyeballing the length until he found an acceptable place to make the cut. With heavy heart, he did as was expected, her locks falling back down loosely at chin level.

Sif’s smile was enormous; she smacked Theodore on the back. “Was that so hard, my brother?” She proudly tossed her short hair with a flick of her head.

“I find this to be a suitable sacrifice,” Thor replied, holding up the handful of loose hair. It was only an inch or two less than what the other team members had chosen to cut. Cheers broke out among the students of Westmore high. Thor turned to address his teammates as a whole. “Brothers and sister! I am truly moved by your act of solidarity, and extend my deepest thanks! And while our brother Happy could not be with us this day...” Pepper rolled her eyes on the sidelines-- “...to all of you, I say, you are my _true_ family.” His big blue eyes watered, grin never faltering.

“Was no problem at all,” Volstagg nodded, reaching for the back of his head and patting around, “Though, it will require some... getting used to...”

“Oh, it grows back in a jiffy,” Fandral motioned his hand dismissively.

“And don’t worry; we’ll get Happy to donate his eyebrows,” Hogun grinned with a mischievous glint in his eyes that made the others chortle mirthfully.

“Ah, please, that’s not necessa--” Thor began.

“Shall we have another round?” Sif threw open the cooler with her foot.

“Ah! Yes!” Theodore beamed, forgetting his protests near-immediately.

Bruce and Tony took advantage of the dispersing crowd to continue on their way up to the young billionaire’s bedroom, stumbling up the steps.

“They’d better be sweeping that hair up before they leave...” Tony mumbled.

Bruce hummed. “Even if they don’t, I’m staying after to help you clean up,” he reminded. Though sobering up was about the last thing on his mind right now. He pressed the boy up against the wall next to his door and sought out the other teen’s pulsepoint with his mouth.

“Aah, fuck...” Tony tilted his head back. “Save it for the bed,” he teased, pawing at the door handle, before managing to give it a turn and swing it open.

Two heads turned and the device that had been rattling was swiftly clicked off.

“Clint... I told you to lock the door,” Natasha delivered icily.

“Mmm _mmmphgghh!_ ” Clint tried to argue back through what looked like a bandana gag. He wriggled in the bindings that had him currently strapped to Tony Stark’s bed, legs spread and at the girl’s mercy where she was seated between them holding... well, the kind of thing you didn’t usually see except at adult stores.

Bruce blinked disbelievingly behind his glasses; Tony wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

“You two again,” Natasha said as she removed the folded cloth from her boyfriend’s mouth; he gasped a couple greedy mouthfuls of air. “So _this_ is what the pantry was about then?”

Tony settled on outrage. “That’s my bed. You don’t get to be smug when you get caught doing...” he fumbled for the proper term for what he was looking at as he gesticulated, “... _this_ , in my bed!”

“Because what you were about to do in it with your friend is so much better?” the redhead looked at him askance.

“It-- It’s _my bed!_ ” Tony sputtered in disbelief.

“Where’d you get the rope?” Bruce asked, still studying the elaborate binding job securing Barton’s ankles to the bedposts of the headboard. Jeez, his flexibility came in handy in more ways than one.

The girl shrugged. “Improvisation.”

Tony narrowed his eyes at the redhead in stony silence, but the image was spoiled by his drunken swaying. He could send these two out on their asses, but then they might tell the whole school and their parents about Bruce’s and his relationship, and then Bruce would have no peace again. Hell, his fanclub might triple if people assumed he was dating Tony Stark. Tony sighed and relented, “Neither of these things leave this room.”

Natasha’s lips quirked only once. “Agreed.”

“Wait, so, we don’t have to gmpphh--” Clint began and was promptly resilenced when Natasha pulled the bandana back over his chin.

“Remember to lock the door this time,” Tony said with an eyeroll, before turning to Bruce with a look of mild annoyance, “It’ll take way too long to untie Barton anyways... C’mon, let’s do a little of our own _improvising_.” He shut the door on them and tried to ignore the resumed vibration sounding from the inside.

For the second time in one night, it looked like Tony was leading his friend down to the den. Bruce gave a prolonged chuckle. “You’re probably not gonna play good drunk...” he pointed out, focusing his effort on going down the basement stairs. On the other hand, as boozed up as he was, he might not even be that picky about Tony’s potentially poor playing.

“Are you kiddin’?? I’m awesome at guitar when I’m drunk!” Tony retorted with a little bit of a drawl. “There’s a pull-out couch down here. Mostly for sleep if I’m up all night playin’,” he explained.

Bruce made a noise that was as close to a giggle as he came, thinking of his friend’s musical talent. “God, you’re amazing...” he marvelled, moving in on the boy again to paw his hands over him. It was possible he was a bit easy to impress right now...

Tony scoffed, “You’re supposed to save that line for while we fuck on it. And after.”

Bruce looked at the not-currently-pulled-out pull-out couch as if it were a scrambled-up rubix cube. Tony burst into giggles at the baffled look warping his friend’s features. “You can do multivariable Calculus, but you can’t figure out a pull-out couch? Watch.” Bruce plopped down into one of the bean bag chairs as Tony removed the two cushions from the couch, revealing the fold-in mechanism. He grabbed the handle and gave a tug, the spring-loaded action doing the rest. Tony plopped himself in the middle of the mattress and gave his best inebriated seductive purr, “C’mere.”

Bruce was on him in the span of two heartbeats. Though in his haste to get horizontal, he lost what little equilibrium he had and fell onto the other teen more than anything else. “I’m here now,” he announced needlessly, sloppily fixing his spectacles, the result possibly worse than before the ‘fix’. The chintzy piece of furniture squeaked underneath their combined weight.

“Oh my God...” Tony snorted, collapsing into giggles, “You’re shit-faced.”

“Shut up,” Bruce attempted as he made a grab for the front of other’s pants, “I’m not _that_ wa...” he spent a moment fighting with Tony’s zipper, “...sted.”

“It’s cute,” Tony said, grinning as his laughter subsided. “Need a little help?” 

The big guy’s face screwed up in forced concentration, working the little metal button keeping the denim shut between his uncooperative fingers. “No,” he said with a stubborn pout.

Tony snorted, “You sure?” He reached for his fly, “I mean, I could just--” 

“I’m sure,” Bruce responded, finally able to pry the button through the hole. He took a firm hold of the jeans and leaned back to pull. Tony chose to lift right at that instant, and the material slid right off the boy’s legs and sent Bruce toppling backwards off the bed and onto the floor with a _whump!_

By the time Tony’s laughing had let up, his face had gone at least two shades redder. “Smooth,” he teased, pulling his shirt up over his head and tossing it to the side before Bruce had a chance to get frustrated with it too.

Bruce picked himself up, rubbing the back of his head where he’d bumped, glasses now completely askew since one of the stems had fallen off his ear. He looked up at his now-shirtless friend and quickly forgot all about his tumble, eyes focusing (well, sort of) on the center of the other boy’s chest. He hurriedly clambered back up and pushed Tony onto his back, running his tongue across the incision repeatedly like a dog lapping up water. “I love this place on you...” he murmured.

“I love you on that place,” Tony breathed out as he responded, back arching on the bed as his scar was once again given special attention. Was the room supposed to be spinning?

“Mm...” Bruce rumbled, lifting just enough to drag the tip of his nose down the other boy’s belly, leading him lower. “How about this one?” he asked just before slipping his mouth around his friend’s erection.

The billionaire drew in a gasp, fingers leaping into the big guy’s hair. “Ohhh God,” he groaned out, “Yes. Definitely that one. Fffuck, Bruce...” His features twisted as Bruce’s tongue teased the head; he managed to keep his eyes open enough to watch. The big guy wasn’t exactly as coordinated with this as he usually was, but it also hardly mattered since Tony was quickly coming to realize his stamina wasn’t what it normally was either. His hips bucked up and he lost it, groaning through the entirety of his orgasm.

He threw his elbow across his face. “Shit, that was too fast...”

Bruce snorted. He climbed up on all fours to lean down over him. “Acting like you didn’t love it,” he muttered in a slur, moving Tony’s arm away to kiss him.

Tony half-chuckled against his friend’s lips. He tugged on the hem of Bruce’s shirt to make sure it wasn’t tucked in, then slid his hands under. “No, just aware that a little reci... reciproc...” goddamn it, he had to stop trying to use big words drunk-- “ _reciprocity_ ,” he finally spat out, “is in order.”

The big guy hummed, sitting up somewhat. “Yeah... yeah, alright.” He looked down at the long line of buttons on his front. Rather than fight with them, he pulled the button-up upwards, struggling and wriggling to get it off over his head.

"Now we're talking..." Tony purred, eyes lighting up at the exposure of more flesh-- it was _always_ a welcome sight. He reached out to pat the back of his friend’s thighs, and Bruce got the idea, moving to put a leg on either side of him, straddling his waist. Now in arm’s length, Tony let his hands roam freely over the expanse of his partner's chest, touching every square inch greedily until his thumbs found a place they preferred to stay, dragging in light concentric circles over his nipples. Bruce might not have any procedurely-acquired erogenous zones like he did, but there were always the standard ones everyone had. Bruce’s lower lip sucked into his mouth, bowing forward and eyes shutting as Tony played with the sensitive nubs. “Like that?” Tony ventured, supplying a tiny pinch to the left one.

Bruce’s voice grew husky and ragged. “Love it.”

That word again. It was like the big guy was teasing him intentionally. Tony staunchly ignored it. “Mm... damn right you do...” he grinned. He keened upward and latched onto the protrusion with his lips, mouthing and suckling.

Bruce groaned. “I love... I love everything you do to me...” he shuddered as he raked the fingers of one hand through his friend’s hair. He didn’t know why he was saying that... it would only cause Tony to ask questions later, but God was it ever true. A harder suck had his thoughts redirected to fumbling with his fly, needing to relieve the growing pressure bowing the fabric outward before it became unbearable.

Tony noticed his friend’s fumbling with a soft snort. He gave Bruce a few moments to try to do it himself out of dignity. His tongue tickled suddenly, nose wrinkling; he fished around his mouth with a finger to find the stray chest hair. “Bleh,” he commented as he got it at last; he wiped it away. “You’re definitely gonna love what I do next...” Tony promised, before pawing the other teen’s fingers away from their work. “Here, lemme. I got it,” he ordered drunkenly.

“Yeah, okay,” Bruce nodded, not arguing this time with that promise in mind; he moved his hands away to let the other teen take the reigns. It wasn’t an easy task for Tony either, but for once, the boy was actually fairly patient as he worked on the fastenings; on the upside it left Bruce’s hands free to skim up and down his sides. Tony let out a satisfied purr as he finally undid the button and drew Bruce’s fly down, taking a moment to fondle the straining bulge in his friend’s boxers before guiding it free through the slit in the fabric. The shudder that left his friend’s lips electrified him, and he strained himself upwards to claim them with his own again. It took a moment for Bruce to react, but when he did it was enthusiastic in all the best ways. Sloppy, passionate. Open-mouthed. Tony felt his eyes roll back in his head as he let out a groan, continuing to stroke Bruce in his palm.

He was getting aroused again (as if he’d ever stopped), distracted, but God was it easy to with those thick lips caressing his. Tony broke away. “Come on. Up higher. Up here.” It took a few motions of his hands for the big guy to clue in to what he wanted him to do. Tony propped his head up on the couch’s back as Bruce positioned higher, taking a seat on his chest. The weight felt good-- it compressed his chest just a little, just enough to make his breathing a little shallow and quick. “I saw this in a... porno...” he chuckled, “Figured you might--”

“What am I supposed...?” Bruce was left questioning, and my God if Tony had thought the big guy could be slow about sex-related things _sober_ , this was a true test of his patience.

“Just...” Tony craned his neck upward, eyes rolling once before silently signaling Bruce to guide his erection into his open mouth. After a few small adjustments in positioning so he wouldn’t end up with a bruise on the roof of his mouth, Tony set to work, taking Bruce in gradually. His movement was limited, his hands left to wander over his friend’s lower torso where they could reach, eventually finding purchase on Bruce’s backside. What little he could do, he applied to the best of his ability, cheeks hollowed and head bobbing and twisting as much as his position would allow.

“Hnngh... God, you were right...” Bruce grunted through grit teeth, finding his thighs had acquired a quiver as he restrained his hips from rutting forward. His head sunk low as he clawed at the back of the couch with his fingers, “I do love this...” Tony worked his mouth aggressively upon him, and it didn’t take long for him to feel that build-up to release clenching his anatomy.

Except that release never came. Bruce scrunched his face up. Was it a symptom of the alcohol he’d consumed? He didn’t even know. But God he wanted to cum more than anything right now. Something between a whine and a whimper left his throat as he watched and felt his friend’s lips drag along his shaft, and he swore every time that the next bob would be the last needed to send him over. “T-Tony... Tony, st-stop...” he choked out at last, pressing his palm to the other boy’s forehead.

Tony pulled back with a slightly audible pop, eyes clouded with renewed lust and confusion (the booze also deserved an honorable mention), “Wha... what’d I do?”

“N-Nothing, just...” Bruce started, taking a moment to fix his glasses, “...stay put.” he finished. Tony still looked a little perplexed, but stayed as he’d been asked as Bruce lifted himself off his chest and moved down so that their bodies were flush. He captured Tony’s lips and encircled their erections in his left hand, drawing an enthusiastic moan from his partner. Pumping and rutting, greedily chasing the friction he thought would earn him his release... he began to feel perspiration building in his hairline and all over his skin. He was unbearably close, but now he was also unbearably warm.

Bruce broke away from his friend to give a huff. “Let’s... let’s get undressed the rest of the way...” he suggested, hoping, _praying_ that if the conditions were right his body would allow him to experience orgasm. He rolled off the other teen and onto his back, beginning to wrestle his lower garments off his body.

“Yeah,” Tony nodded, noticing Bruce’s frustration but not sure whether it was a good idea to comment. He lifted his hips, tugging off his boxers first before removing his socks and tossing them off to the side somewhere. His eyes stuck on the other teen’s naked form then, and he nibbled his lower lip thinking, relationship or not, he was _damn_ lucky to have Bruce all to himself. After about ten seconds, he gave up on a witty or charming remark and settled for “God, you’re hot,” mashing his mouth back onto his friend’s. “I love looking at you.”

“I love looking at you more,” Bruce argued back, fondling Tony’s sides as he pressed their foreheads together.

“I love...” Tony’s response died prematurely on Bruce’s lips. The teenager felt his heart pound a little faster, a little harder as he reveled in their eye contact. From this proximity he could see the green lining the edges of Bruce’s irises. _‘Central heterochromia’_ he faintly recalled, and wondered if this was the first time he’d taken notice, or if he was just too drunk to think back to when he first had. And then it hit him; that first detention. It was Bruce’s indifference towards him that had first caught his attention, and the glow in those eyes that had _kept_ it. God, he’d been chasing Bruce since he’d first met him, hadn’t he?

Tony willed Bruce not to blink, wanting to stay lost in those eyes. Eyes that had changed from indifferent to angry, but had actually been sad and scared the whole time. The eyes that had finally managed to trust enough to smile back at him, to betray worry and concern. Eyes that showed him compassion, and eventually lust and affection. As those eyes gazed back into his in that moment, he noticed they looked different than he’d seen them before, and he was sure it wasn’t just his imagination. Tony had no idea what it was, but he knew all too well what he wanted it to be. Pulse pounding hard and heavy, nerve endings dancing with every touch, he tried not to dwell on the thought. If he thought about it too much, he’d end up saying it. It wasn’t the time. It wasn’t the place. It wasn’t--

“I love you.”

Bruce blinked and drew back, and for a moment it seemed like the spell that had been over the both of them had broke. Tony began to splutter out a cover-up. That ability was quickly stolen away from him when Bruce’s mouth crushed back on his hard enough to topple them back into bed, limbs tangling together.

Bruce’s brain was as muddled as ever, but he didn’t default to logic when it came to surge he felt in his chest. He popped their lips apart to pepper hard kisses all along Tony’s jaw and throat and then collarbone until he’d nearly run out of breath. “Yeah...” he panted, “Yeah... I love you too...” he returned murkily, head dizzy and swimming.

“You... you...” Tony panted, feeling the beginnings of a laugh winding up in his gut, “ _R-really?_ ”

“Mmyeah... I fucking _love_ you...” Bruce emphasized in a slur, once again laving his tongue up the other boy’s throat, leaving a wide patch of saliva in its wake. “I love you so much, Tony...”

Tony let himself laugh, pulling Bruce closer. He couldn’t believe it. The big guy had said it back. “I loved you first,” Tony said, as if he was making a child’s contest out of it.

Bruce snorted. “So? What’s it matter if...” he fought through his inebriation to continue that sentence, as if the taste of Tony’s skin wasn’t enough of a distraction, “if you did?”

“It doesn’t,” Tony relented, pressing their foreheads together again, before stealing another kiss, “I’m just glad you do...” He blushed.

Bruce noticed the color spreading over his friend’s face and reconnected their mouths, humming pleasedly. His hips ground down on the other teen’s. Maybe it was alright he couldn’t get off after all. If he stayed hard all night, so be it, he’d take advantage of it and fuck his friend ‘til sun up. His skin shivered at the thought. “I wanna have sex...” he stated, “I love you and I wanna have sex.”

“I’d call that... redundant, if those weren’t... the top two things I wanted to hear ever...” Tony knew he was rambling, and he was lucid enough to know that the two of them both probably sounded really stupid, but he didn’t care. They wouldn’t be conversing for much longer anyway-- Bruce was reaching down between their forms to grab Tony’s cock with fumbling fingers. “So yeah, me too. To everything...” He paused, confused for a moment, “...or both? Fuck it,” he finished with a snicker, descending on Bruce’s lips again, rutting his hips against the other teen’s clumsily.

Once or twice the other boy’s erection slipped from the circle of his grip when Tony thrust-- it was harder to hold onto than one of those ‘water wigglies’. But it brought a different concern to the forefront of his mind. “Tony?” Bruce sought the other teen’s attention, “Tony, I don’t think I can... um... well, uh...” He trailed off, hoping Tony would understand what he was attempting to convey without saying it.

Tony stopped his movements and looked Bruce in the eye, “You can’t what?” he asked. Oh, if this guy was about to back out of his confession, he had another thing--

Bruce’s face tinted pink. “I’m not... anymore,” he left out a word, peering down between their bodies at his lost hard-on.

Tony’s eyes followed his friend’s and stopped, “Oh.” He tried not to pout (or laugh at the absurdity of his earlier worry), relinquishing the tension in his arms and slipping down to rest on top of Bruce. “Don’t worry about it; it’s not like it’s broken,” he reassured Bruce with a ruffle of his hair, “Just a little whiskey dick is all.”

Bruce’s lower lip pushed out unhappily. “How do we fix it?”

“Alcohol’s a depressant. Should sober up... and only drink... like...” Tony closed his eyes in brief thought, “…a lot less next time.”

Bruce mumbled something incoherent and settled for wrapping his arms around the other male, squeezing him to his chest in grumpy compromise.

Tony chuckled under his breath, accepting his fate as human teddy bear for the time being, “We could just lay here, you know... this is pretty nice too.”

Bruce buried his face into the crook of Tony’s neck and shut his eyes. “But I... wanned to have... sex...” he grumbled out a semi-complete sentence, but he already sounded half-asleep.

Tony snorted. “Me too; maybe next time.” He placed an affectionate kiss to the top of Bruce’s head and took a minute to just soak in the entire evening up until this point. In spite of all the curveballs and annoyances that seemed to have been thrown his way, they all seemed to have sorted themselves out. He’d bared his scar in front of an entire room of people and nobody seemed to care. Thor and the football team seemed to have had a good time without breaking anything of value in the process. Steve Jr. had actually been fun for once. And even Clint and Natasha had managed not to completely ruin his mood.

_‘We’ll call that little rope-a-dope in my room “strike one”...’_ Tony made a mental note.

The big guy shifted beneath him with a snore. Bruce actually handled himself well in the chaotic setting, which was Tony’s initial worry, and main reason for limiting the guest list. The second reason was, ironically, to make it harder to get caught sneaking off to do what they’d basically been too drunk to finish just now. Regardless, in the (very) slowly thinning fog of his thoughts, he couldn’t really find anything worth complaining about. The only real casualty of the night was the Stark family tree, and thanks to Bruce’s quick thinking, it was _mostly_ saved.

And most recently, there was a pleasant warmth in the very core of him that he knew wasn’t from the shots, and just thinking about why it was there had him feeling _damn_ smug. He’d finally said it. And he’d gotten his answer without having to ask the question. And maybe there were more questions left to ask, but for now, he was satisfied with leaving it alone and just basking in a different kind of afterglow. He took one long glance at Bruce’s now sleeping form, placing another kiss on the big guy’s temple and finally allowing his eyes to drift closed.


	36. Chapter 36

A harsh rapping on the door finally stirred Bruce from his deep unconsciousness, and as he came to, he got the feeling the knocking had been going on for some time. He started to move automatically to go answer it, when he found he was pinned down. Oh. Tony, naked and drooling, was spread out on top of him, sawing logs. ...When had they gotten down here again? And why? That question he could fairly well piece together from the pile of their clothes on the floor. It was starting to come back to him now, a little. Tony’s hot mouth on his nipple and cock... the look in his eyes when he said...

Bruce’s jaw clenched.

“Tony! Bruce! I know you’re in there!” The pounding increased. Phil’s voice, Bruce recognized. He gave Tony a testing shake, and upon confirming it wasn’t going to wake his partner anytime soon, he instead pushed with both of his arms, upending the boy onto his back.

Unfortunately for him, he didn’t stop rolling there. Tony’s arms pinwheeled as he rolled right off the edge of the futon, letting out a yelp as his back hit the floor. Now wide-eyed and blinking he turned his head to sluggishly to scan his surroundings, “What the f-- oh, hey big guy.” The response he got was having his t-shirt thrown in his face.

“We gotta get dressed,” Bruce grunted, stepping into his boxers and pants.

Tony gave a petulant whine in response, “The fuck are we...” He stopped as it slowly came back to him and he pulled the t-shirt over his head to cover his grin as he stood. “Neverm-- Um, yeah...” Tony cleared his throat, catching himself, “So what’re they bitching about upstairs now?”

“Don’t know,” Bruce kept his responses short; he frowned at the state of his buttoned-up button-up, wondering how in the Hell it had gotten like that.

“Is, uh... something wrong?” Tony ventured nervously, frowning at the short-worded replies his friend was giving him. He was having trouble locating his boxers amidst the wreckage, and ultimately decided to just pull on his jeans and worry about it later.

“Ah...” Bruce worried the inside of his mouth with his tongue, trying not to establish eye contact as he slipped the shirt over his shoulders.

Oh God, this wasn’t good. He tried to limit his panicking. “Was it the sex? It was the sex, wasn’t it? I’m sorry. About the sex. Totally my fault,” Tony blathered. He knew he was laying it on thick, but he really hoped it _was_ the sex. Sex could be fixed.

Bruce wasn’t really listening, thoughts too jumbled around. “Yeah,” he responded distractedly, heading towards the stairs to grab the door.

“Hey, wait a sec,” Tony called out to his friend; another loud thump on the door was an immediate interruption. “We’re coming, alright? Jesus Christ! Have some goddamn patience!” he shouted halfway up the stairs.

Bruce halted in his tracks and gave a slow exhale. He wanted to bolt. He wanted to run as fast as he could, as far as he could from this conversation. The door was right there at the top of the stairs; he could be gone in three seconds flat. Why? Why was he so scared of this? He’d had this conversation with Betty only a few days ago, about why it wasn’t okay for him to be romantically close to someone... he should be able to do it again with Tony, to explain simply and impartially. Slowly, he turned around to face the other boy, lower lip pinched between his teeth.

Tony put his hands on Bruce’s shoulders to hold him in place once he’d caught up. There wasn’t any running now. “I’m not mad,” Tony said, “Really. And I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

“I don’t...” Bruce started. “You don’t remember...?” His mouth closed.

Tony’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “I don’t remember what?” He drew out the question to give his thoughts time to catch up. It didn’t take too long to realize they definitely weren’t talking about the sex anymore. “Oh, you mean...” He bit his lip as he felt his stomach drop, hands sliding away; he fixed his gaze on the corner behind Bruce. “We can, uh... if you want, _pretend_ I don’t remember... What were we even talking about again?” he gave a very forced laugh with the joke’s delivery.

Bruce felt like he’d swallowed his tongue; he tried to get a response out past the lump in his throat. “Tony, that’s not...” He didn’t know what to say.

The teen hastily cut him off. “I mean-- I mean, be-because I say a lot of crazy shit when I’m drunk; and if you take _everything_ I say seriously, th-then--”

But it hadn’t been _just_ Tony who’d said it. Bruce _knew_ he’d said it back. He’d told Tony he loved him. Which he did. God, he really did. And that was probably the real reason he couldn’t bring himself to explain to the boy in front of him. This wasn’t a childhood crush like it had been with Betty. “Tony--” he tried again, a little more forcefully.

“I’ll shut up about it from now on,” Tony promised. “Just... I don’t want to lose you. As a friend, as a fuck-buddy, as a _whatever_. Please.” The look in his brown eyes was practically heart-breaking.

Bruce exhaled again. Still Tony thought he was going to be abandoned. Bruce reached out and gripped his friend firmly by the shoulder, to give him some physical contact, some reassurance. “You’re not going to lose me. And we’re going to talk about this. But for now we need to sort out the rest of tonight, alright?”

“Yeah,” Tony nodded, at least partially reassured by Bruce’s words. He managed a small smile, “...yeah, that’s fine.”

“Okay,” Bruce nodded back. Uncertain he should do so, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Tony’s forehead. He did, after all, care very deeply about him.

“What were you guys doing down there?” Phil inquired when the two of them emerged at last.

“Sorry, we were sleeping it off,” Bruce explained, reaching under his glasses to rub an eye.

“Well, that’s good,” the boy responded. “We’ve got a lot of folks up here who’d like a ride home, if possible. We’re a little short on DDs...”

So the party had mostly wound down to a close then, Bruce established from the information and a brief look around. Wow the place was a mess. Bottles and cans littered every horizontal surface, including the floor; snacks were similarly scattered around, bowls upended and spilling their contents of pretzels, peanuts and chips; pizza boxes, streamers and confetti from the after-midnight celebration were in high density. And of course there was the matter of the charred tree and the black soot stuck to the ceiling directly above it. They sure had their work cut out for them.

“I can drop a few people off,” Tony volunteered, eager to have something to do to take his mind off of...

Bruce looked at him. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’m just a little drowsy; just woke up,” Tony replied, hesitating a moment before adding, “You wanna come with?”

Bruce nodded. “Two pairs of eyes are better than one,” he agreed. He trusted Tony’s judgement, but he’d like to be there just in case. He fished around in his pants pocket for his mother’s car keys. “Let’s take mine.” More of them could cram into Tony’s ‘stang, but the Civic had seatbelts, just in case anything _did_ go wrong.

Phil went back to Steve and together the two of them began organizing the party-goers into stages of groups. Besides Tony, Phil, Leonard, and a few others were all doing drop-offs. Tony and Bruce got their first batch of three students, who recited their addresses; JARVIS popped up a map plotting the most efficient route. Tony handed the device off to his friend.

True to his word, Tony’s driving was fine, and with Bruce navigating, they made short work of dropping off the three students, who thanked the two of them profusely for their hospitality and the ride and asked when the next party was. Tony responded with a scoff and a snide utterance of “Check Clint’s twitter feed.” before pulling away from the curb.

Tony turned the car back towards his house to get a new batch of kids. He tuned the radio to an FM classic rock station. Which reminded him... “Hey Tony,” Bruce spoke up over the music. “When I get a car... you know, _eventually_... could you set it up so JARVIS could play the way he does in yours?”

Tony’s eyes brightened at the request, grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he swigged from his bottle of water. “Are you serious?” he asked upon wiping his lips off. That would be the perfect project to get himself lost in, if he could wait that long.

Bruce nodded. “Yeah. I’d really like it. If it’s not too much trouble,” he added shyly.

Tony’s response was almost what one would call giddy, practically bouncing in his seat with the notion, “Fuck yeah I’ll do it! Oh my God, Bruce, do you have _any_ idea how hard it’s gonna be to wait for you to get a car now?”

“Uh... really hard?” the other teen guessed.

“Add like, seven more ‘really’s and you’ll be getting close,” Tony replied with a wink.

Bruce yawned into his hand, checking the time on his wristwatch against the dashboard display. 3:30 AM. Save for the nap they caught down in the den, it was looking like the two of them could end up pulling an all-nighter. He could really use some coffee or something in addition to the water. He took another long drink of it. This would be horribly tedious if it weren’t for the boy behind the wheel beside him-- Tony made it bearable. But that was always the case; Tony made everything better. He made bad things tolerable and okay things good, and he made great things fantastic. That was the kind of thing the person you loved was supposed to be able to do.

And yet Tony was more than likely operating under the assumption that he didn’t love him back. Guilt crept up Bruce’s spine. His friend had lapsed back into silence now; he’d been noticeably quieter than he usually was while he drove-- he wasn’t even singing along to the Metallica playing over the speakers, and he almost always sang along. Bruce squared his jaw. The meat of their conversation could wait, but he had to tell Tony he wasn’t alone about the way he felt. “Tony, I just want to let you know right now...” Bruce began.

“Hm?” Tony raised an eyebrow, but didn’t look away from the road.

“When I said what I did... When we were drunk. A-about... you know...”

A siren brought an abrupt end to that thought.

“Shit...” Tony ground out through his teeth, wracking his brain for a good lie, simultaneously praying that the siren was for someone else on the road (implying there was actually anyone else on the road). It figured he’d get pulled over tonight of all nights. He gripped the steering wheel nervously, knuckles whitening, “Okay, Bruce, just be calm, alright.”

There wasn’t a calm thought in his head as the red and blue lights flashed away in the side mirrors. Bruce pushed himself tightly against the seatback.

“If they ask, tell them you didn’t know I’d been drinking, okay?” He took a deep breath as he pulled over and killed the engine.

“That’s believable...” Bruce muttered. If he remembered the lesson from Driver’s Ed two years ago correctly, they were _both_ about to be in a heap of trouble.

“I’m sorry...” Tony muttered, flipping through his wallet for his license. “I didn’t think that...” he let out an anguished sigh, “I shouldn’t have got you mixed up in this.”

“Don’t,” Bruce ordered, “I’d rather be in this mess with you then know you got into it alone.” He reached for the glovebox to grab the documentation on the vehicle.

A dark-haired woman came to the driver’s window, a stiff swagger in her navy uniform. “Officer Maria Hill,” she flashed her badge quickly. “I’d like to see your license and registration.”

Tony handed the officer his license with a polite nod. He hated authority figures with a fiery passion, but if it kept the heat off of his friend, he was willing to suck up. “Um, it’s his mom’s car, so the registration’s under ‘Rebecca Banner’...” he added meekly, passing along the registration as Bruce handed it to him.

“Alright, and I’m going to need to see your I.D. as well, young man,” the woman said as she glanced over the various certifications.

Bruce nipped his lower lip but reached into his back pocket to pull it out. “H-here...” he got out shakily, offering it across Tony and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Thank you,” she said without even looking up; she proceeded back to her patrol car to run background checks.

The two of them waited in suspense. Were they getting written up? What for? Would there be a fine they’d have to pay? How much would it be for? Where would he get the money? Would they have to take a correctional class? Or do community service? Would it go on record? Would it raise the cost of his insurance? Bruce slid lower and lower in his seat as concern after concern piled on top of him. “Please tell me we’re still in the den sleeping and this is just a nightmare...” he bemoaned, covering his face with his hands.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Tony hummed in reassurance, reaching out to take his friend’s hand and stroke it with his thumb, “If it comes down to it, I’ll... I’ll just... I’ll fix it, okay?” He brought their clasped hands to his lips and placed a quick kiss on the back of their knuckles. “Don’t. Worry,” he reinforced.

Bruce didn’t know how Tony thought he could ‘fix’ any of what was about to happen to them. He settled for trying not to whimper.

At last Officer Hill returned. She propped her elbows on the roof of the car to lean in and look at them. “How are you boys doing tonight? Been drinking?”

Bruce looked petrified in his seat. But it would only make things worse if he lied. She’d perform a breathalyzer test and get the truth that way. He gave a barely visible dip of his chin.

Tony froze in shock, but couldn’t fault Bruce for his honesty. He bit the inside of his cheek and let out a hard sigh, rubbing the back of his neck, “Yeah.”

“You know this state has a zero-tolerance law against underage persons driving under the influence,” she stated.

“I, uh... no, I didn’t, ma’am-- officer. This hasn’t... I haven’t ever d-done this before, so I didn’t--”

Hill shifted her weight onto her other hip. “So then you also wouldn’t know that, by law, your driver’s license would be revoked and you would be spending the night at the station?”

Tony swallowed. He was usually defiant in these kinds of situations, even when he was genuinely afraid of the outcome, but he couldn’t afford to be a smartass right now and kept his defenses down. “N-no, I didn’t.”

“And your friend could face some serious repercussions as well,” she added. Bruce slithered even closer to the floor; his legs felt like jelly.

“I... I’m...” tears pricked the corners of Tony’s eyes. He couldn’t find the guts to so much as glance back at Bruce. “P-please, Officer; it was my fault... I was driving a few friends home from a party. He just came along to keep an eye on me, and--” God, this had to be the most pathetic he’d ever sounded, because he definitely had never _felt_ this pathetic.

“Three and a half hours into 2013 and I’ve already written up six DUIs,” the woman mused, her eyes unhardening to gaze into the distance. She drummed her fingertips on the roof of the car. “When I took this job, I thought there’d be more high-speed chases and less paperwork...”

Tony gave a few short, confused nods, not knowing where this was going. Bruce’s ‘laugh’ was more of a cough.

“I guess you’re always bound to be disappointed by something in this line of work,” Officer Hill said. “You two, however,” her acute eyes returned to them, “have shown a lot of honesty and remorse this evening. Plus, you were driving the speed limit and obeying traffic laws, which is more than I can say for most of the drunks I’ve stopped twice your age.” Bruce and Tony exchanged wary glances as she went on. “I’m letting you both off with a warning. For the record, I pulled you over because your left tail light is out. You _might_ want to get that fixed.”

Tony let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, “Are you seri-- OhmyGod... _thank you_.” He felt like full-on crying. “I promise it’ll never happen again.”

“Good, that will save me some paperwork in the future,” she made the joke with an impassive face. She handed back their licenses and the car registration. “But I will be informing each of your parents of this evening’s incident when I drop you off.”

Bruce cringed, but told himself not to look a gift horse in the mouth. They were still getting off with a lot less than _could’ve_ been done to them. “M-my parents... are actually out of town,” he informed the policewoman; he wrung the back of his neck, “until tomorrow evening.”

“Either of them have a cell?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Bruce answered, swallowing roughly. Now he had to decide which number to give, his mom’s or his dad’s... He decided he’d rather his dad give his mom the news than vice versa, surrendering the ten digits that comprised the man’s number.

Hill nodded as she took it down. “And what about you, Anthony? Folks out of town?”

“He’s not home tonight, but I’ll give you his cell number,” Tony answered, not wanting to get his father in trouble, but not wanting to out and out lie either.

“He’s partying too, huh?” Officer Hill almost seemed amused. “Guess I know where you got it. Seems I’ll have to call each of them in the morning. Now, out of the car,” she motioned, stepping back.

Tony gave Bruce a brief glance and nodded, unbuckling his seatbelt. Bruce followed suit. She escorted them to the patrol car, opening the rear door for them to climb into the backseat. Bruce got in first, huffing out a sigh as he peered out the barred window at the Civic for which a tow truck would soon be on its way. This wouldn’t be the _worst_ news he’d come home to his parents with, he tried to tell himself. Though he imagined it would be a less than pleasant ‘welcome home’ present for the two of them...

Tony slid in afterwards, keying a quick text to Pepper as discreetly as he could manage once Officer Hill had shut the door after him. Hopefully all the stragglers had been sent home, and the ones who hadn’t had a ride were actually sober. He trusted her to organize things better than anyone else he knew. Well, anyone else who wasn’t currently under the influence. He sent one last text to Betty (the update on his and Bruce’s ‘progress’ would be nice little counterbalance to her hangover, if nothing else) and put his free arm around the big guy, rubbing up and down in a comforting manner. The police car set in motion.

“When my d-dad finds out...” Bruce stuttered out weakly, knotting his fingers into his hair and twisting.

Tony sucked in a breath, squeezing Bruce's arm a little tighter, "It'll be okay. And if he hurts you, I'll go to jail for worse than a fucking DUI..."

Tony probably didn’t understand how little that set him at ease. Violence was rarely solved with _more_ violence, and the very thought made Bruce scrunch tighter, his body taking on a slight tremor. It had been years since he’d received any ‘physical punishment’, but for what he’d done-- been _caught_ doing-- he was certain the man would _want_ to hit him, even if he didn’t end up doing so. And then there was the matter of his father’s study that he’d trashed. Bruce slid his hand over his face. God, he’d really done a bang-up job this week alone, hadn’t he? Maybe punishment would actually be _deserved_ this time. Maybe he’d feel better if he _did_ get hit, get yelled at. The man’s accusing voice echoed in his head and Bruce flinched, muscles spasming with each harsh word.

"Bruce," Tony worried his lip. This was potentially one of the worst places for the big guy to lose it, and by now Tony knew the warning signs. He tried again, "Bruce, he's not here. Its just me." He didn't know what compelled him to press on, but he did. "It's safe, Bruce. Don't be scared." He pulled his friend into his chest and started stroking his hair.

It took a few moments, but gradually the tension in Bruce’s shoulders left and his quivering lessened. He focused on his friend’s touch and the words that had come with it, and he managed a nod, not withdrawing from the embrace. “Just you...” he repeated as if solidifying it for himself and believing it.

Tony nodded, “Just me. Whenever you need me.”

“I like... just you,” Bruce breathed out, hugging a little closer and shutting his eyes again. “When I’m alone with you... things actually seem r-right... instead of...” he shuddered, “wrong.”

Tony nodded, kissing Bruce’s temple softly, “Nothing’s gonna hurt you if I can help it, okay?”

“Y-yeah...” Bruce acknowledged, shaking off his case of nerves. He drew back and settled into his seat again, twiddling his thumbs. Thank God the other boy was here to keep him tethered.

Maybe a change of topic would help keep his friend calm, Tony thought. “So... you were gonna say something earlier?” the teen asked quietly in a sheepish voice.

Bruce glanced at his friend. “Yeah... I...” he exhaled hard, trying to get his thoughts back in order from _before_ they’d been pulled over. The police car gave a little bounce beneath them; he brushed some stray hair out of his face before looking back at Tony. “I was gonna tell you that... I meant it.”

Tony swallowed, throat suddenly dry; he leaned back a little, eyelids batting in surprise. “Are you saying...?”

Bruce chuckled, pretty sure he was saying what Tony was asking if he was saying. “Yeah,” he nodded with a half-smile. “I think so anyway,” he added with a shrug.

It was impossible for Tony to bite back his own smile. “Yeah, it’s weird for me too, but... I don’t know... we have plenty of time to figure it out, right?”

That shy but always charming smile was captivating even now. Rather than utter his _fourth_ sentence beginning with ‘yeah’ in a row, Bruce chose to confirm Tony’s words by reaching back behind his head and pulling him into a heartfelt kiss. He hadn’t expected Tony to be so understanding and... patient... about all this, about the fact that ‘time to figure it out’ was exactly what he needed. He let his tongue brush the other boy’s, caressing his jaw with his thumb.

Tony returned the kiss gently. In spite of all the insanity that had transpired within the past twenty four hours, he felt content. 

They were so preoccupied with one another that they didn’t notice the police car come to a stop outside the Stark manor. Officer Hill put the vehicle in park and glanced at her rear view mirror at the two teens in the backseat. An eyebrow lifted before she cleared her throat sharply. “Your stop, Anthony.”

The two broke away self consciously, Tony glancing at her via the rear view mirror. “You mean, he can’t come? He... he was spending the night.” His brown eyes switched between hers and Bruce’s. “Can I at least grab his toothbrush and stuff for him?”

Officer Hill sighed, unbuckling her seatbelt and exiting the car, before looping around to open the passenger door on Tony’s side, “Alright, then out with the both of you. I have to get back to patrolling anyhow.”

Tony sighed, relief washing over his features. “Thanks.” He gave another brief nod before sliding out of the backseat, stepping to the side to get out of the big guy’s way. He was surprised when Bruce pressed his hand into his; right away Tony held on and squeezed back.

“I think you two learned your lesson; don’t prove me wrong,” Maria regarded the two boys sternly, taking special note of the way Bruce cringed when she’d said the first part. She’d seen too many broken homes in her lifetime to brush off the boy’s earlier comments as overdramatic teenage ramblings. Even if they were, it didn’t sit well with her to leave it alone. She cocked an eyebrow as the two nodded and shuffled towards the house. “Actually, Mr. Banner, would you mind if I had a short word with you?”

“I-- I, um...” Bruce stuttered, turning back around. He took one short-lived glance at Tony before releasing his hold on his hand and returning to the car where the officer was, keeping his head down. “Ma’am?”

Officer Hill returned to her console for a brief moment before returning with a small sheet of paper. “You don’t have to say anything,” she placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder before continuing, “But I’m going to leave you this.” Bruce blinked in stupefaction as the policewoman folded the paper and handed it to him. “There’s a few numbers on there that should help. And if you’re ever in a crisis, just call the local station and ask for Officer Hill,” she finished, placing a calling card for the local station in his palm on top of the slip and closing it.

It clicked what she meant a couple seconds later. Bruce committed his gaze to the ground as his fingers tightened on what he’d been handed. “Thanks...” he said in a low tone.

“I’m hoping you won’t need to thank me, kid,” Maria responded. Honestly, she hoped this hunch of hers was completely wrong. _‘Better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it’_ , she thought, getting back into her patrol vehicle.

Tony hung back a few short feet away to wait for his friend, eyeing the exchange warily. Bruce returned, looking a bit dejected, and they continued up to the house as the police car drove off. Bruce unfolded the piece of paper and just kind of stared at the numbers he’d been given: the National Abuse Hotline, the National Child Abuse Hotline, and a teen crisis line. Had he really been that obvious? Did he _look_ like he needed these numbers? He felt a little ashamed, and yet at the same time, he recognized that these kinds of hotlines were for situations like his, for people _like_ him. Bruce ran his hand through his hair again. He could really use a cigarette right now, but he wasn’t going to ask Tony for one.

“What’d she say?” Tony asked after Bruce had rejoined him.

“Just... well...” the teen pursed his lips, “I have numbers to call if... stuff gets ugly. At home.”

“Oh,” Tony said, not keen on voicing much more than that.

“Yeah,” Bruce responded flatly, refolding the sheet along the creases and putting it in his pocket. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d had these numbers before... or even thought to find them himself... how life might have been different growing up. If things would’ve stopped sooner. “Hopefully...” he bit off the rest of that statement with a hard shake of his head. No. He didn’t need to go down that line of thought right now. Come what may, he shouldn’t spend time agonizing over it now.

“Hopefully...?” Tony urged his friend to finish the thought.

“I don’t have to,” Bruce mumbled.

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, “I hope you don’t either.”

Without another word on the subject, the boys made their way back inside. Immediately upon entry, it became apparent that the cleanup efforts had already started without them. Steve, in spite of his compromised balance, was hefting a large black garbage bag towards the garage. Thor seemed to be making a show of how many red plastic cups he could collect in one stack. Phil was wandering back and forth with two rolls of paper towel under his arm, presumably looking for spills. They’d already made notable progress, no doubt thanks to that text Tony had sent Pepper’s way earlier. She really was a great gal, and Steve and the rest were pretty good friends too.

Tony held his hands up, “Guys, I really appreciate your initiative and everything, but it’s late.” He checked his phone’s time display quick. “Like... beyond late. I vote we turn in for the night and get back on this when we wake up.”

None of them ceased their tasks however.

“There you are!” Pepper’s voice rang out, and at first Tony flinched, thinking he was about to be yelled at. She was obviously angry, though not at him. “I can’t believe they pulled you guys over. What, are they pulling over _everyone_ driving harmlessly on the streets tonight? How many cops do they have out there??” She gave an indignant snort, “If the city is that desperate for funds, maybe they should try cutting some of the law-makers salaries!”

Tony chuckled softly. “We got off with a warning, Pep.”

The girl visibly cooled. “Well good,” she crossed her arms, pretending to still be fuming. After a moment she continued, “Everyone wanted to pitch in and help clean up. But we’ll turn in soon. You two head off to bed.” If it had been said any sterner, it would’ve been an order, but there was an uncommon softness in her viridian eyes. She looked over at Bruce, who looked weary beyond measure, “You’ve both had a pretty rough night of it.”

Bruce nodded gratefully. “Thanks, Pepper.”

“Yeah, thanks, Pep,” Tony echoed, “And, uh... keep track of everyone that stuck around to help out. Tell ‘em they’ll be the first to know if I ever plan another one of these.” She nodded and turned to do just that, but was stopped by a gentle tug on the arm. “Oh, and uh... also tell ‘em thanks,” he added. The girl gave him one parting kiss on the cheek and hurried off to resume whatever she’d been doing before they came in. Tony cleared his throat, willing the blush in his cheeks to dissipate before clapping a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “So... my bed, or the pull-out couch?”

“Bed,” Bruce chose with a grunt; he was looking forward to sleep now more than ever.

“But it has Clintasha germs all over it...” Tony groaned with a measure of disgust. 

“Clin...tasha?” Bruce queried, not sure he even wanted to know.

“It’s their couple name,” the boy explained, gesturing his hands. “You know, like ‘Brangelina’, only with more BDSM and a penchant for party-crashing and blackmail. Also I’m pretty sure they have yet to adopt a third world village.”

“We’ll change the bedding,” Bruce mumbled.

“But that’s _work_...!” Tony groaned in protest, though he knew they’d be doing it anyway. He trudged after his friend who was already grabbing clean sheets from the linen closet.

“Won’t kill you,” Bruce promised. He grabbed a bath towel. “I’m going to shower before bed. You coming with?” He could understand if Tony just wanted to crash into bed right now.

“Yeah,” Tony said in a yawn, stretching his arms up above his head. The drowsiness of earlier was beginning to creep over him once again, but in spite of that, nothing sounded better than rinsing away the misadventures and exploits of the day, curling up beside his friend and forgetting them all. Well, all but one very specific part of the day. The corners of his lips turned up happily. And there was the fact that he wanted to spend as much time with Bruce as he could before he had to go tomorrow evening. “I wouldn’t wanna miss that.”

The spectacled boy gave a little chuckle, the sentiment reminding him of the tenth track on the album Tony had given him (yes, he _did_ have the order memorized). He had to admit, now that he knew how his friend felt about him, he felt even more disinclined to spend even a moment without him. He was really glad the police officer hadn’t sent him home so he could have just one last night together sharing the same bed. Bruce engaged Tony’s lips. “We have to fall asleep eventually,” he said fondly.

Tony scoffed. “Says you,” he shot back. He didn’t pull away, instead choosing to rest his forehead on his friend’s and stare into those eyes again. He let out a contented sigh, “I’m glad I told you.”

Bruce dropped his gaze with a conflicted chuckle. “Yeah, me too,” he allowed himself to return.

“It feels great to finally have it off my chest.” Tony grinned, “So, what now?”

The corner of Bruce’s lip twitched. He ran his hand through his friend’s hair again, studying him quietly. Yeah, it felt great to have confessed out loud, but it brought new questions and concerns along with it-- like what Tony expected from this... from him. They needed to have that talk more than ever now. He kissed his forehead, “Let’s take that shower.”


	37. Chapter 37

“I thought your mother and I raised you better than this!”

Bruce cowered on the other side of the study, trying to squeeze himself into the corner as tightly as he could as his father continued to shout and hurl objects in his direction. He covered his head and ears and stammered lamely in place of words, “I-I--”

“I thought we raised you to know _right_ from _wrong_. In a household that made those values _clear_.” Brian came around his desk, his nostrils flared like a bull readying for a charge. “Look at me, Bruce.” The teen cringed at the demand, hiding his head. “ _Look at me_!!” The volume of the man’s voice scared him into complying, shakily lifting his gaze up to meet his father’s. “Tell me where we went wrong, Bruce. Tell me _where we went wrong_ that made you think it was acceptable to act in such an irresponsible manner!!”

“It i-isn’t... y-you did...” the boy began to answer, but he didn’t get far.

“Now I can see what your mother and I have raised,” Brian snarled, advancing on him with the back of his hand raised, “Nothing but an insolent, little whelp!”

The strike never came. What came was consciousness, immediate and harsh. Bruce sucked in several sharp, shallow breaths with pained difficulty. His palms were perspiring, his pupils contracted down into points, and he was shuddering all over; it felt like his nerves had been raked over hot coals. Freed from the dream but not his conscience, he slid out of his friend’s bed and onto the floor to hug his legs to his chest, whimpering.

Tony didn’t stir from sleep immediately, though once his lazy pawing failed to locate the other teen’s warm body beside him in his large bed, he didn’t stay asleep for long. “Nnn... big guy?” he pushed up on a palm and rubbed an eye sleepily with his other hand.

Amid the echoing in his head, Bruce heard his friend on the periphery of his auditory range. He attempted to respond, but his jaw was still clenched tight and unwilling to budge, his body tensed up on itself to the point of immobility. If he didn’t calm down, he was going to snap. If he didn’t calm down...

“Big guy?” Tony tried again, tone of voice raising in urgency as his vision focused. He nearly called out again, until he saw the familiar mop of brown curls poking up just above the edge of the bed. Without a second thought, he climbed off the bed to crouch next to the other teen. “Bruce, what happened?” he asked, concerned. Jesus, the guy looked really wrought up. Tony carefully embraced him.

The big guy flinched at first, but gradually relaxed. Tony took to stroking his hair, absently wondering if he was getting any better at this at all. “Hey, hey... I’m here now,” he said softly, “I’ve got you.” Tried and true, the other teen’s fists unclenched and the discoloration in his irises began to fade. Tony sighed in relief. Now that Bruce was a little calmer, he tried again, “What happened, big guy?”

“Just... just a bad dream,” the boy got out.

“Just a dream,” Tony confirmed, “You’re safe.”

Safety wasn’t even his primary concern at the moment. It was the knowledge that he had to return to the place where all that abuse originated, that he had to face _the man_ responsible for its perpetuation. And that he had to leave the person he loved to do it. “I don’t want to go back,” Bruce said suddenly.

“I don’t want to let you go back,” Tony replied honestly, not missing a beat.

The teen’s head dropped toward his chest and he gave a sob, hiding his face in his hands as hot tears began to spill out of his eyes.

“Bruce...” Watching the big guy break down in front of him felt worse than having a needle jabbed into his chest. “You’ve always got a home here. If you ever need to...” the teen swallowed, refusing to mention the worry that bred their shared discomfort, “for _any_ reason, just come over and spend a night, or a week or something.”

Bruce wiped at his eyes, trying to get them to stop stinging. “I... Yeah,” he concluded weakly.

Tony tipped Bruce’s chin upwards until the two met eyes, the pads of his thumbs making an effort to wipe away what was left of his friend’s tears. He planted a gentle kiss on the other teen’s lips before continuing, “Come back to bed.”

The gesture made his heart stir just a tad amid the rest of the painful squeezing. “I’m not really sleepy anymore...” he said, downcast.

Tony didn’t respond verbally, instead, in a rare show of strength, choosing to drag the other into bed with him. Bruce didn’t put up too much of a fight. They settled into a spoon, Bruce’s back flush with his front. He let out a sigh, “I never said you had to _sleep_...”

Bruce stared straight ahead, hugging the arms around him. This would probably be the last time in a long time they’d be able to do this. The thought brought him little in the ways of solace, but he tried to enjoy it. Tony felt so warm pressed against him. He didn’t want to give that up. This week living at Tony’s had spoiled him... from the quick kisses to the frequent sex. He wanted to close his eyes and pretend this _was_ his home... where he could be cherished and appreciated instead of the cause for all of his parents’ disagreements and fights. Bruce let out another shaky breath.

But his life wasn’t _here_. It was _there_. For at least another year and a half. And that was just how it was.

Feeling resigned, Bruce pushed himself up and out of Tony’s arms. “We should probably get up. I have to get back.”

Tony worried his lip, but hopped out of bed after his friend anyways. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, they’re gonna be back this evening and it’s already...” Bruce checked the watch on his wrist, exhaling when he saw where the hour and minute hand were pointed, “Two-thirty.” It shouldn’t surprise him they’d slept-in so late what with how late it had been when they finally got to sleep. He groaned and kneaded his fingers into his temples, feeling the brunt of the alcohol from the night before pressing against his skull. Liquid. He needed to get some liquid in his system. He moved for the bathroom to go get a drink of water.

Tony nodded, plucking his phone off of the end table to check it for messages. His eyes scanned the screen once it lit up. _‘You two *finally* talked?? And? What happened?’_ He smirked momentarily at Betty’s text (he’d fill her in later) and poked to the next. “Oh. Dad got my message,” he relayed loud enough for his friend to hear in the next room. “He says he wouldn’t dream of letting your mom pay the towing fee. I don’t know if we should feel grateful or creeped out. I’m leaning towards the latter.”

Bruce paused in the collection of his toiletries, head tilting to the side. “He’s not even a little mad?” A hint of jealousy lingering among the incredulity.

Tony rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh, understanding what Bruce was getting at. “It’s been a long time since he’s been a dad... Just because we get along now, it’s...” the teenager shook his head, at a loss for words, “I don’t think he knows _how_ anymore.” It wasn’t a pleasant reality to comment on, and even though Tony was content with the progress he and his father had made at mending the rift between them, he knew it was a far cry from having a real father in his life. What Howard was to him, it was nice, but it was a matter of noun versus verb. Howard was a parent; he wasn’t _parenting_.

Bruce returned to the bedroom, belongings in hand. “Well whatever,” he shrugged his arms loosely at his sides. “Tell him thanks, but it won’t be necessary.” The teen stooped down to put the toiletry bag in his backpack and went back to gathering his other things scattered around the bedroom.

“Uh... sure?” Tony muttered in response, wondering if he missed something. He stretched briefly before tugging a shirt on, “I’m driving you back, right?”

“Yeah,” Bruce answered emotionlessly, obviously distracted, scanning the floor and all the rest of the horizontal surfaces in Tony’s room. He had everything now, save for one very important thing. A little whine escaped him. “I can’t find my iPod. I thought I left it right here in its charger...”

“Well I doubt Nat or Clint swiped it, if they know what’s good for them, but...” Tony turned and crouched next to his fallen pair of jeans. An idea formed in his head as he scoured the pockets, procuring his own iPod and holding it out for Bruce. It was about time he picked up his project again, and he knew just the guy to beta test it. “Here. You can hold onto mine until I clean my room and find yours.”

The teen blinked. “Are you sure?” For one, if he had to wait for Tony to clean his room, he could be waiting a _long_ time. And for two...

Tony scoffed. “All my music is on my phone. This is just my backup; my phones have a history of, well... breaking.”

“Yeah, I know, but...” Bruce swiped the side of his lip with his tongue as he took the offered device. “This... has your album on it?”

Tony felt his cheeks heat up, chest pounding at the question as if by residual instinct. He really shouldn’t feel this embarassed about one song. There wasn’t much he hadn’t said to Bruce already, and his friend was still here, in spite of the big bombshell he’d dropped last night. Nothing to fear. He swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah. It’s _all_ there...” he put a slight emphasis on the second sentence.

Bruce nodded back, not giving away what he knew ‘all there’ meant. “Well, thanks.” He cushioned it between a couple of shirts and added it to his backpack. He zipped the pocket shut and tasked himself to getting dressed.

Tony didn’t ask Bruce whether he was ready to go, and Bruce never really said when he was. They just shared a brief look, slipped on their shoes and coats, and stepped out the front door. The air was frigid for a mid-afternoon winter day, making Bruce shudder and try to scrunch himself deeper into his jacket like a turtle retreating to its shell. It certainly didn’t serve to make him feel better about leaving the comforts of the Stark home which he had so quickly grown accustomed to. Tony pretended not to notice when the other boy turned around to take a sweeping glance of the inside one last time, but his hand never left his friend’s back as he was doing it.

The drive didn’t do much to break the chain of silence, and the tension was enough to start to seriously unnerve Tony. He knew he was going to miss his friend, and it scared him not to know how last night’s events might affect their ability to see one another. Still, he needed to be a rock for his friend, even if he was just as uncertain on the inside. Setting his jaw, he found a side road to turn down, pulling over on the shoulder once he felt like they were away from too many passing eyes. Before Bruce could protest, Tony was on him, burying his face in the crook of his neck, planting kisses.

Ordinarily, his friend’s physicality would have given him comfort, but at the current moment it pestered him more than anything else. “Tony,” he said scoldingly, “I have to get back.”

Tony pulled back, giving Bruce a stern look, square in the eye, “I know. But you _are_ coming back, understood?”

“When I can,” the teen responded; he had way more on his plate right now than just trying to keep his friend happy. “Now can we _please_ get back on the road?”

“Alright, sorry,” Tony put up both palms, pulling back onto the road. “But if he--” he swallowed, pausing for a beat. His throat seemed to constrict at the idea of mentioning it, “You’ve got that list of phone numbers, and you know I’d come pick you up in a heartbeat.”

Bruce just sighed stonily into his palm, staring out the window.

When they got there, his mother’s car was on the curb where the tow truck had left it, the payment slip tucked neatly under one of the wipers. He retrieved it, internally cringing at the amount. Folding it up, he shoved it in his front pocket, as if the old ‘out of sight, out of mind’ trick would work here. Bruce bit the inside of his mouth. “You... wanna come in for a bit?” he offered, though he sounded almost ambivalent to the idea.

Normally Tony would have hopped out of the car by now, but the mood had shifted since last night and he was second-guessing all his decisions right now. This whole thing was his fault. This problem that hadn’t even presented itself had stemmed from his own actions, and he couldn’t seem to do anything to smooth it over. To top it off, it wasn’t even him that was left to suffer the consequences. What could he possibly say at this point? What kind of comfort could his presence possibly be? He sighed and stepped out of the car, with the silent promise that if he made it any worse, he would just leave. Easy.

His friend’s hesitance was noticeable, but Bruce didn’t make comment, turning to head up to the front door. As he found the proper key on his keyring, his eyes momentarily wandered to the flower pot on the stoop and he let out a dark chuckle that wasn’t amusement.

“We never cleaned up under there,” Tony muttered. “Did you want--” he started to ask, eyes darting back to his car briefly. He never finished the question, almost afraid of missing the mark again, irrationally offending his friend in some way. He knew it was stupid to think that way, that he was remembering the _old_ Bruce who used to get offended by things like that, but his self-doubt was taking over and he could barely catch the word as it slipped out, “Neverm-- shit. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bruce only grumbled in response as he pushed open the door.

Tony followed Bruce inside, closing the door behind them. “What _do_ you expect me to do?” he responded finally, breaking the silence. One hand went to his hip, the other gesturing in front of him. “I don’t know what _your_ perspective is on this, but as far as I can see, _worrying_ is about the only thing I _can_ do. Which really sucks, because if anything, this is _my_ fault.”

Stress was rapidly turning into irritation. And there was only one person in the room to take it out on. “We both did it, it’s _both_ our faults,” Bruce wheeled on him; the snappishness of the response dissolving whatever semblance of consolation that would’ve been to hear. “There’s just _one_ difference--!” he began, a fire roaring to life in his eyes, but he quelled it just in time. “Just... just go then, if you don’t want to be here.”

“I...” Tony gaped, surprise shifting to indignance, “I didn’t say I didn’t want to be here. I just want you to let me be fucking sorry! It’s an unpleasant fucking situation, and apparently I can’t fix it. So let me feel like shit. Let me hate myself a little for not getting any kind of punishment.” Tony could feel his pulse pounding, felt his legs start to tremor beneath him, but he ignored it in favor of the teen front of him. Why couldn’t Bruce understand?

Unpleasant? Oh, so Tony was unhappy because things were a little _unpleasant_?? He threw his bag at the ground. “You have no _idea_ what ‘feeling like shit’ really is,” Bruce growled out.

Tony narrowed his eyes, his breath picking up heavily as the rage seemed to overtake them both. Did Bruce invite him in just so he could push him out? He spat back through gritted teeth, refusing to back down, “I’m going to ignore everything that’s wrong with that statement and assume that you fucking know me. So enlighten me; otherwise you’ve pretty much proved my point.”

“You wanna be ‘enlightened’ as to what it’s like to be me??” Bruce snarled, hands fisting, knuckles whitening over taut skin. “Because I can show you _exactly_ what it’s like...” He stepped forward threateningly; he was just barely resisting the urge to draw his fist back and send it across his friend’s face.

“Yeah, and then some, I bet,” Tony scoffed, knowing full well how easily Bruce could turn the pain of his childhood onto him if he was afforded the control. Still, Tony’s eyes remained steely, not betraying an iota of fear. Physical pain was one of those temporary things, and he was ready for it, if it came down to it. He felt himself sway to the side just a hair before catching himself. Why...? Did the room feel a lot warmer now than when he’d walked in?

Tony shook his head and re-affixed his glare, “So basically, you invited me in to be your verbal punching bag, is that it? What, because I have the nerve to say I feel bad for something I did?? Oh right,” he faux-realized snidely, “I forgot; _you’re_ the only one who’s actually allowed to hate himself.”

Bruce visibly seethed, this wasn’t the time for debating points, and if he didn’t calm down or remove himself from his friend, he was afraid the ‘verbal’ aspect of ‘punching bag’ was liable to be subtracted from that analogy. “Just get the fuck out, Tony. Get the fuck out of my house!!”

“You know, you... You’re a god damn--” Tony started to retort when he swayed again, much harder this time. His vision was blurring at the edges, and in his rage-clouded mind it was beginning to dawn on him that there was something very wrong. His heart was thumping a mile a minute and his breaths were starting to feel strained. His knees quaked as he realized with wide-eyed alarm that he needed to move _now_.

Shoving past Bruce, he scrambled towards the bathroom, throwing the door open on its hinges. He gave the medicine cabinet similar treatment, banging it into the mirror; a few bottles of pills and other toiletries tumbled into the sink or onto the tiled floor. He scanned labels frantically, eyes darting over names as he clutched his chest. _‘Fuckfuckfuck--’_

It hadn’t been the direction he’d intended Tony to go, but at least they weren’t in the same room any more. Bruce shut his eyes and took several deep breaths, collecting himself gradually and returning to a calmer state of mind, one where he could hopefully speak to his friend rationally. The sounds coming from the bathroom caused his eyebrow to tweak; he moved towards it. What was he...?

Tony would have whooped victory upon spotting the bottle of aspirin if it had been under any other circumstance. He wrestled off the child-proof cap and pulled out the wad of cotton, paying no attention to where it fell as he poured a couple pills into his hand and swallowed them dry, not taking the time to count them out. He wasn’t going to OD, which was all he could be bothered to care about at the moment.

Doing his best to steady himself, he backed into a corner, narrowly avoiding a trip over the lip of the tub. He slid into a seated position on the bathroom floor, thinking back to physical therapy and trying his damndest to slow his breathing. In the back of his mind he was berating himself, wondering if smoking more than once a year was exacerbating his condition. It helped him not to think about the bigger issue: this was still happening. He wasn’t getting better, just forgetting how bad he actually was.

Practically tip-toeing, Bruce traced his friend’s steps down the hall. He very cautiously poked his head in, blinking when he saw the other boy hunched up on the floor, surrounded by pill boxes and bottles. His gaze slid over to the open aspirin and he made the connection, feeling his jaw clench with alarm. “Are you... are you okay...?” he asked, beginning to move towards him before stopping himself in case Tony wanted the distance.

Tony didn’t say anything in response. He was tuning out the world, save the thoughts in his head, in favor of steadying his breathing. If nothing else, this was horrible fucking timing. He nodded his head stiffly once Bruce’s words managed to penetrate his mantra of sorts, but he didn’t lift his head.

Tears were pricking his vision for the second time that day, and Bruce gave in to the urge to fall down beside his friend and hug him. He placed his forehead to the side of the other teen’s head, scrunching his eyes shut as he whispered in repetition, “I’m sorry... I’m so so sorry...”

Tony still said nothing, mostly because his focus was still on his breathing, but also because the words stung just a little bit. So _now_ Bruce was sorry? And why did _he_ get to be sorry for this? It made Tony feel worthless; like he was exempt from judgement just for having a heart condition. He wasn’t one of those fucking Make-A-Wish kids. Once his breathing had steadied, he pushed away from Bruce and stood, almost as if the other boy hadn’t been clinging to him in the first place. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t make me sick,” he croaked out dully, picking up the stray toiletries and pill bottles and proceeding to re-stock the medicine cabinet.

Bruce sat empty-armed for a few seconds, processing what had happened and what had been said to him. When he got up, he placed his hand on Tony’s forearm to halt his task. “I’m sorry for _yelling_ at you,” he clarified, his eyes glossy and voice repentant.

“You’re allowed to yell at me...” Tony sighed, “It’s not like I didn’t push you. It’s not like I didn’t yell back. It’s not like this whole thing didn’t start with _me_ in the fucking first place!” Tony tugged his hand free weakly and slammed the medicine cabinet closed, making the contents rattle. He took a few unsteady steps out the bathroom door, when a jolt of fresh pain forced him to lean against a wall in the hallway to catch his breath. Too soon. “And you were right...” he got out, avoiding Bruce’s gaze. “I don’t know anything about what kind of shit you go through. I just don’t like adding to the pile. Especially now.” He wiped at his eyes angrily, feeling pitiful for tearing up again and wishing he had the strength to keep walking.

Bruce breathed out. Well, he’d gotten Tony to see his side of things, but it was a rather bitter method of accomplishing it. He followed loosely. “Tony... you don’t ‘add to the pile’. You...” he stopped to nip his lower lip, “I’ll get through this. I... I always do,” he said with some measure of confidence, but the pain returned as he gazed into his friend’s eyes. “I was just taking it out on you because... because I could...” he sucked in a breath, “because that’s the way I am,” he admitted, bowing his head, “and I’m sorry.” When he looked up again, his eyes were freshly streaming, “You’re everything to me. And I love you.”

Tony let out a broken exhale, eyes spilling over. “I love you too.” It felt amazing to be able to say those words out loud now.

The teenager swept back over to his friend to embrace him, savoring the touch, the warmth, the smell... everything he couldn’t live without anymore. “I w-want you to know...” Bruce spoke unsteadily, pawing his hand through Tony’s hair, “N-no matter how mad I get, I’ll always love you.”

Tony chuckled through his tears, “Are you sure? I’ve been told I have a pretty trying personality...”

Bruce felt himself laughing in response, sadness cresting to gladness. “I love it,” he responded earnestly, pecking the other boy on the lips. 

“Good,” Tony laughed, pecking back. “As a side note, I _am_ going to apologize when I feel like it. Tony Stark does not apologize to anyone, so you should consider it a privilege.”

A half-smirk pulled across his features at the ridiculous reasoning only his friend would dream up. “Alright. Apology accepted.” He wet his lips, “I’ll ah... figure out some way you can make it up to me.”

“I might have a thing or two in mind,” Tony hinted, thoughts drifting back home to the iPod he knew had to be laying around somewhere.

“Hm...” Bruce hummed out, splaying his fingers over his friend’s chest, wanting what was under those clothes. “Well, not right now. I have to get the place ready for my parents and you...” he paused, recalling Tony’s reaction to the subject of his condition just moments prior. “Well, you should probably take it easy for awhile and sit down,” he concluded generically.

“I’ll check in with my doctor; don’t worry,” Tony replied, though not with the usual tone of apprehension. Bruce had a right to worry, and truthfully, it wasn’t something he’d planned on ignoring anyway.

Bruce exhaled a sigh of relief. “Good.” He kissed his forehead. The teen shook his head as he twined their fingers at their sides. “I’m gonna miss you so much.”

“That makes three of us,” Tony snorted, “I’m worried Dad won’t be able to go back to takeout.”

“You’re both hopeless,” Bruce chuckled fondly.

“Not completely,” Tony replied with a shy smile, gaze falling to the floor in an attempt to mask the sincerity of the statement.

“Not at all,” Bruce corrected, tipping his chin back up and running his thumb over his goatee several times.

Tony took the opportunity and stole a kiss, “I am going to plan the most awesome day ever for when this all blows over. I suggest you make a list of things to do.”

“Like those massages you keep ducking out on?” Bruce suggested smirkingly.

“I am not-- whatever,” Tony dismissed with a roll of his eyes. “Anyway, I should sit down,” he admitted, still feeling a little weak on his feet. A momentary grin stole over the big guy’s features and Tony began to splutter, “Bruce... why are you looking at me like...” His eyes widened again, “Oh God. No. I forbid it.” But the big guy wasn’t listening to his supplications and next thing he knew he was being scooped off his feet and suspended in his friend’s arms, forced to accept the situation with a pout. “Well, at least you don’t have a pool...” he crossed his arms.

Bruce laughed, carrying the other boy over to the couch. Rather than set him down on it though, he took a seat himself with Tony in his lap. “How’s this?” he murmured.

Tony wriggled himself down to rest his head in the other’s lap, humming contentedly in response, “Thanks for the lift, I guess.”

“Uh huh,” Bruce vocalized, sifting his fingers through his friend’s hair. He had a lot to do, but he could hurry it in exchange for this little moment.

Tony sighed contentedly. If he allowed himself to, he could probably fall asleep like this, but he wouldn’t dare.

\--

Tony took his leave about half an hour later, though not without a gratuitous number of assurances that they’d hear from one another soon via text. After waving from the porch until the ‘stang drove out of sight, Bruce glanced down at the flower pot again, narrowing his eyes at it. He went in and got the dustpan. As he stooped to brush the ashes and leftover butts into the pan, he couldn’t help but feel like it was a little symbolic, sweeping away the bad habit he’d been hiding from his parents. Now hopefully he could make it through the day without phoning Tony and telling him to bring his pack by.

Butts discarded, thermostat back up to 72°, laundry running, tupperware cleaned, living room tidied, Bruce went to go grab the money he’d been left on the table, running through the mental checklist in his head as he counted the bills. Everything was pretty much squared away, save for dinner, which he needed to run to the store for. And he might as well stock up for all of next week while he was at it. He exited out the front door and grabbed the mail waiting in the box before getting in his mom’s car to go.

When he arrived back, he parked the vehicle back where it belonged on its side of the garage and took the three trips necessary to bring all the groceries in. The mail he set at his father’s place setting-- it had really piled up in the week they’d been gone. With a shaky sigh, he withdrew the towing bill out of his pocket and set it on top of the stack before hurrying back to the laundry room to quickly move his clothes from the washer to the dryer.

A quick glance at his watch told him he had about forty-five minutes until the ETA he’d been given. Without hesitation, he started putting the groceries away, sorting them into the fridge or pantry depending on where they belonged, save what he was specifically using for tonight, which he decided would be chicken marinara. It was a fairly intensive recipe when making the sauce from scratch like he was planning, but it gave him something to focus on other than the time on the microwave display slowly approaching five o’clock.

When he had it in the oven, he went to go sort and put away his clean laundry and unpack the rest of what he’d taken with him to Tony’s. He gave a somewhat conflicted smile as he plugged the loaner iPod into the wall; on one hand it was sweet his friend had so readily let him borrow it, on the other had he really really wished he hadn’t misplaced his own. He could have listened to it some now, but he was too nervous and couldn’t even smoke to pass the time. Instead he ended up pacing the living room.

The sound of a vehicle approaching outdoors drew his attention and when he heard the garage door coming up, he gulped, the sensation more akin to attempting to swallow a golf ball than his own spit.

Just trying to keep calm, he went back to the kitchen, grabbing an oven mitt and a knife to slice one of the breasts open to check for doneness.

“Oh my goodness, that smells simply wonderful!” his mother said upon taking one step into her home. Brian followed her in with the rest of their baggage, detouring for the bedroom to set their things down. The woman made her way out to the kitchen. She was wearing a new hat and a skirt Bruce didn’t recognize, though they looked nice on her, and of course her recently acquired diamond necklace.

Bruce gave her a sheepish smile, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room with the oven mitt still on one hand. “H-hey, Mom,” he greeted.

She swept over to him in an instant, embracing him. “Sweetheart, it’s so thoughtful of you to have dinner ready for us. Oh, I simply missed you so much!” she kissed him on the cheek.

He returned her embrace wholeheartedly, nuzzling into the crook of her neck; he’d missed her too. It was hard not to miss your mom when she was gone for longer than she’d ever been gone before. The boy chuckled, a little beside himself. At least initially this reunion was going better than he expected, though that could have something to do with the absence of one particular family member...

Brian entered, passing through on his way to the dining room. For just an instant over his mom’s shoulder the father and son’s eyes locked before Bruce hurriedly snapped his own away. He pulled back from the hug meekly. “S-so... how was your trip?” he got out.

“It was absolutely delightful,” his mother tittered, her words leaving her mouth just a little faster at the very subject, “We had such a good time; we saw so many things and took so many pictures-- oh, we’ll have to show you!”

The words punched him in the gut in a way he hadn’t anticipated. They’d taken... _pictures?_ Just like back when? Because it had just been the two of them... because he hadn’t been there...? Bruce recovered as best he could, hiding the hiccup in his voice. “That... that sounds great, Mom.”

“I’ll get the table set,” she assured him with a pat on the arm. She removed her hat and swept past on her way towards the silverware drawer, “Thank you again for cooking.”

“Yes, Bruce, we appreciate it. It was a long drive,” Brian commented. He didn’t look up from the stack of mail he’d begun to sort through, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he pared it down, tossing the junk mail in the trashcan as he found it.

Bruce felt his skin begin to itch all over; he hoped his father didn’t think he was trying to butter the two of them up to lessen whatever punishment was coming. The man also hadn’t unfolded the little receipt yet, which was killing him in multiple ways... part of him just wanted to get it over with, another part of him prayed that somehow it would get lost on the floor and be forgotten. Both his parents were being so deceptively pleasant, Bruce began to wonder if Officer Hill had called them to inform them of the infraction at all or if they were really unawares. He pulled the marinara out of the oven and took it over to the table to place it on top of a trivet, not lingering too long before going back to grab a serving spoon.

“So how about you, sweetheart?” Rebecca asked, as she pulled out her seat, “How was your week?”

Apart from the obvious? Bruce’s heart rate spiked as he slithered into his seat. “I-it was good. I spent... most of my time at Tony’s.”

“As we expected,” his father commented gruffly, getting up. Bruce and his mother watched in puzzlement as he left the table and the room, as they’d both settled in with the intention of eating. He wasn’t gone long however, bringing back his decanter and _two_ tumbler glasses. Bruce felt himself blink as the man set them both down. He began pouring into one, looking pointedly at his son across the table. “Would you like a drink with dinner, Bruce?”

The boy stammered in surprise. Rebecca’s chin tipped downward until her hair draped over both sides of her face. “Brian...” she began as if to tell him to stop.

“Rebecca,” he returned sternly, speaking with a slow cadence, “I want to know if he wants a drink.”

She went quiet and Bruce felt his heart hammering against his ribcage. He wouldn’t let them argue over him, not again... at least not so soon. He spoke up firmly, “No thank you, sir.”

The man capped the glass stopper over the top. “Was that so hard to say, Bruce? Why then were you not able to say as much to your friend Anthony?”

A wholly different sensation prickled up Bruce’s spine. Was his father trying to blame _Tony_ for the fact that he’d been drinking? As if the boy had pressured him into it? Used coercion to get him intoxicated? He slapped both palms down on the table in front of him. “Tony had nothing to do with it! I made the decision myself!”

“Are you raising your voice to _me_ , young man?” his father growled out dangerously.

“Boys, please!!” Rebecca yelled at them, silencing them both with her glare. “You can have this discussion later, after dinner. The only thing I’m interested in hearing right now is grace.”

“I’m sorry, Rebecca, you’re right,” Brian apologized with a nod.

Bruce just relegated his gaze to the tabletop. Jesus, had he actually yelled first? Had _he_ pulled the trigger? Thank God his mom had been there to stop them before they’d been at one another’s throats. It was an apropos thought, as his mother finished saying grace with an ‘Amen’ and Bruce cleared his throat, adding his own.

Dinner was a mostly quiet affair after that. Bruce knew it had been foolish and in most ways pointless to have argued about the level of his friend’s involvement, but he hadn’t been able to restrain himself. Really he needed to stop saying things before thinking duly about their potential impact. That _was_ a bad habit he was picking up from his friend.

Upon conclusion of the meal, Rebecca took responsibility of clearing the dishes from the table and taking them to the sink, which made it fairly clear that the other two members of the family were ‘at leisure’. Brian picked up the towing receipt and stood. “Study,” he merely conveyed.

Bruce let out a slow exhale. His moment of reckoning was here. He pushed away from the table and followed.

Once they’d entered the room upstairs, his father closed the door behind him and rounded his desk. “Take a seat, Bruce,” he motioned at the armchair in the corner as he sat himself.

Those words alone were enough to throw Bruce off. He couldn’t ever recall being invited to sit during one of these discussions... Trying not to quiver at the unexplained circumstance, he padded over and placed himself in the chair, awaiting whatever was to come.

“Bruce, can you explain to me why the drinking age is twenty-one?” the man posed.

Quite a number of possible answers blossomed in the young man’s head, but he didn’t voice them-- talking back wouldn’t earn him any brownie points, that he _did_ know. It was a rhetorical question anyway. “Sir?” he tipped his head for him to go on.

His father’s forefinger thudded dully on the desk as he delivered his words, punctuating them. “It is because as children, we lack the necessary information to make such an educated choice ourselves, and we lack the emotional capacity to handle the effects it has.”

Bruce wasn’t going to contend that, for the most part. When he’d sought to put an end to his friend’s excessive drinking, it had been for exactly such a reason: Tony wasn’t able to handle it emotionally. Since then the boy had come a long way and he matured on the subject. But it was Bruce’s opinion that _he_ had the emotional fortitude his father was talking about. He’d certainly drunk _too much_ , Bruce could admit to that; it had clouded his judgement and landed him here, something that wouldn’t have happened if he’d been sober. But then, it was all a simple matter of _how much_ was ‘too much’.

Brian went on. “This is why we have drinking laws that penalize misconduct of this nature, to ensure the safety of the lawbreaker and those around him.” The man held his gaze to ensure he was following what he was saying. “Especially in the case of minors.”

All of this was making sense so far, except for one thing: His father didn’t seem to be angry. He wasn’t even being a little hostile. His tone was serious, but not charged. Bruce nodded in agreement, he didn’t know much of what else to do. “Yes, sir.”

The man leaned forward and looked him dead in the eyes. “Drinking is a very adult decision, Bruce. By doing so, you’re signalling to me that you are ready to assume adult responsibilities, and that you are no longer in need your mother or I’s care or custody.”

Bruce’s jaw clamped shut. What... what exactly was he being told here? Pack your bags, get out of the house? Suddenly he was very scared. Would he have to find his own place, pay his own bills, purchase his own food, get a job to cover those things while trying to finish up high school? Tony would’ve said ‘Bring it on.’ Tony would probably also tell him he could come live at his place at least until he graduated. But he and Tony thought about things from different perspectives. “That’s not...” he started to say, but he stopped himself.

His father was completely impassive. “I am willing to regard you as an adult, Bruce. You are young, but not unintelligent. If you think abiding by the rules set forth by living here are unreasonable, arrangements can be made to exempt you from being legally dependent, if that is what you would like.”

Suddenly Bruce understood why he was sitting in the chair and hadn’t been forced to stand. His father was highlighting them as equals, as men, as two people with equal amounts of responsibility. The piece of furniture beneath him felt like it had been set on fire-- he wanted to jump up from it... get out of it... but he couldn’t; he was glued to the spot.

Bruce hung his head. “N-no, sir.”

“I see,” Brian leaned back in his chair; it was unclear how he felt about this reply. “Then you would agree that it is my responsibility, as your father, to administer what I feel is appropriate punishment for someone your age?”

The teen nodded weakly.

Brian paused to hmm. “To begin with...” the man picked up the towing bill once more to look it over, “I’ll be paying this Friday with the rest of the bills, but the total will be deducted from your allowance.”

Bruce nodded again. It meant he wouldn’t be seeing so much as a dollar for about four weeks, but that really wasn’t so terrible. He’d just have to be conservative with his gasoline and he definitely wouldn’t be picking up any new books for the time being. Simple budgeting. Sure, he could probably get Mr. Stark to pay for it, but it wasn’t really the man’s responsibility and he’d hate to take advantage of his charitable nature like that. He waited for the rest.

“I am grounding you for the rest of break,” Brian went on with an almost disinterested air. “You are not to leave this house unless accompanied by your mother or I. And you are disallowed all contact with your friend Anthony during that time.”

His heart plummeted. The _rest_ of break? School didn’t start for another _six days_. Bruce wanted to protest, but he’d already agreed to whatever terms his father put forth.

“Which means I will be needing your phone,” Brian said tersely.

Bruce tensed. He pulled the device out of his pants pocket anxiously. If he didn’t text back tonight, Tony would flip. His thumb hovered over the screen. “Can I... can I just let him know first--?”

“Now, Bruce.”

The boy gave a sigh of defeat and placed the electronic on his father’s desk. He stepped back, letting his arms hang loosely at his sides; he didn’t bother to sit back down in the armchair, he knew he didn’t belong there.

“I will be sure to inform him when I go over tomorrow to speak with Tony’s father,” the man said, turning the phone off and putting it in the top desk drawer. Bruce looked up at this, mind bubbling over with what his dad intended to say to Tony’s. It churned a few ugly feelings in his gut, but he was already feeling pretty horrible knowing how six days in captivity unable to so much as even _talk_ with his best friend was going to be.

“Furthermore...” Brian went on, and Bruce wondered how much more there could realistically be, “I am instating a curfew of eleven o’clock once school is back in session, which will be revoked at my determination.”

If it was possible, his heart clenched harder. He and Tony wouldn’t be having any more sleepovers for a long, long time. His eyelids fluttered for the third time that day, and it was all he could do not to break down into tears right there in front of his father.

The man swivelled his chair ninety degrees to face the east wall. “That is all, Bruce. I trust I will not hear again that you’ve been drinking, or doing anything else that is improper for a boy _your age_.”

Those two stressed words solidified everything his father had said to him thus far. “Y-yes, sir...” Bruce acknowledged. He turned and exited his father’s study, fingers trembling as he shut the door behind himself. From there he locked himself in his room so he couldn’t be seen or heard by either parent. As he crawled onto his bed, sniffling, he grabbed for Tony’s iPod. He unravelled the buds and pressed them in his ears as deep as they’d go, selecting his friend’s cover of Heal Over and setting it on repeat.


	38. Chapter 38

Tony was curled up on his bed, phone blaring a randomized playlist that he wasn’t listening to, so much as he was listening for the interruption that came with a text or call. Four solid hours and there had been no word from Bruce, and Tony didn’t want to think about what that could mean if his parents were home. Were they still yelling? Had anyone been hit? He snorted roughly through his nose, rolling onto his back to stare at the starscape he and Bruce had made while the latter was still there. As much as it screamed of his friend’s absence, Tony knew that if Bruce was feeling as melancholy as he was, he was probably staring at the stars on _his_ ceiling too. The stars bonded them in that way, and the notion calmed Tony just a little.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by a quiet rap on the door frame. His dad. Old man must’ve finally pulled free of Steve Sr.’s clutches and come back home-- he was still wearing the same clothes he’d left in the afternoon before, much in need of dry cleaning and ironing from the looks of it and _wow_ he reeked of alcohol. Tony could smell it from _here_. “State your business,” he muttered, not taking his eyes from the ceiling.

“I would ‘have words’...” Howard responded with faux-dramatics, every bit as sarcastic as his son.

“Enter,” Tony replied, rolling his eyes and plucking his earbuds out as he sat up. Howard navigated past a pile of clothes and sat down on the end of his son’s bed.

“I heard you and Junior managed not to kill each other,” Howard opened with an aloof air, eyes nowhere in particular.

“Just barely,” Tony snorted.

The older Stark rubbed the moustache beneath his nose thoughtfully. “And the house seems... mostly alright.” Have to hire a painter to come deal with the scorch marks on the ceiling. Probably be good to get a carpet-cleaner in as well... the hallway smelled faintly of vomit...

The teen shrugged his right shoulder. “Yeah. We did our best, considering all the uninvited guests.”

Howard hummed his response, leaving them in brief silence. His son’s choice of the word ‘we’ stood out to him and it brought him to what he wanted to discuss. “Bruce is a good kid.”

Tony let out a long sigh, pulling his knees to his chest to hug them. “Yeah, he is.”

“You _both_ are,” Howard clarified, patting his son’s knee in an attempt to be fatherly. “If you weren’t, I’m sure that policewoman wouldn’t have let you two off with a warning.”

“Yeah... I guess.” Tony’s words were forlorn. He certainly wasn’t consoled.

Howard felt a sigh escape his own lips, recalling the brief phone call he’d had with Bruce’s father a few minutes before, warning him that he would be coming over to talk the next morning. “I’m not in the right place to judge whether a father cares about his son, or whether he’s parenting his kid the right way, but...”

“I don’t like Mr. Banner either, Dad,” the teenager said flatly.

“Still, punishment is a given,” the man remarked, “and I can’t tell another man how to punish his kid. I just... I don’t know... I just wanted you both to know that I think you’re good kids, no matter what some uptight, anal-retentive, controlling asshole might think.”

Tony gave a soft chuckle, but didn’t lift his chin from his knees. “Thanks. I just wish it hadn’t happened.”

“It _happened_ , boy. It’s in the past.” Howard done enough stupid shit in the past to have developed that attitude. He looked his boy in the eye, “And I know damn well you won’t be dumb enough to make the same mistake twice.”

“Too bad Bruce’s dad doesn’t have the same thought process,” the high schooler mumbled into his arm.

“If there were no idiots, then we wouldn’t be geniuses, boy.”

Tony snorted yet again, the ghost of a smile beginning to worm over his features. “I hope you know I’m stealing that,” he grinned at his father.

They stayed in a pleasant silence for a moment before Howard piped in again, “So then... as far as _your_ punishment goes...”

Tony raised an eyebrow, “My what?”

“I’m taking away your Nintendo 64 until you graduate,” the man said with unequivocal firmness.

“Dad, I don’t even own a Nintendo 64,” Tony dead-panned.

“Damn right you don’t. And if you keep it up you can say goodbye to your Dreamcast as well.”

“If you’re being serious I’m going to have you put in a home,” Tony rolled his eyes. He smelled like he belonged in one.

“Oh I’m being serious alright,” Howard went on. “And if you can manage to stop begging me for mercy long enough, you should really get around to cleaning up this pig sty of a room.”

Tony picked up his earbuds. “On the to-do list, Dad. Right after ‘mourn my losses’ and ‘crumble under the will of my fascist dictator father’.”

“I would snuff out all who _dare_ whisper of rebellion...!” Howard countered, leaning towards his son with his fingers extended and wiggling.

“What the heck are you--?” Tony began, only to be pounced by his father. The teenager yelped out as the man’s fingers dug into his stomach. “Dad! Daaad!” he flailed as he unsuccessfully tried to bat his father’s hands away. “ _Oh. My. God!_ ” His laughter echoed off the walls, even as he desperately tried to hold it back and save himself from the vicious embarrassment he was being put through.

The man withdrew when he determined that his son had had enough. “Let that be a lesson to you,” he nodded.

“Jesus Christ, I am not _five!_ ” Tony tried to catch his breath, his smile and pout coalesced into one.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Howard responded, standing and turning to leave.

\--

Tony stared down his grumpy reflection in the toaster as he waited for his Eggo waffles to pop up. A quick glance at his phone confirmed what he already knew: no texts from Bruce.

A hard rapping sounded on the Stark front door, stiff, monotonous. Tony slid off the barstool and crossed the distance of the living room, drawing the door open lazily with a yawn at the back of his throat, “Morning?” Eyes that were still heavy from a near-sleepless night of room-cleaning focused to regard the man before him and he froze, losing his voice.

“Morning, Anthony,” Brian responded stiffly, looking down his nose at the boy standing in the threshold in his pajamas. “Is your father at home? I was hoping to speak with him.”

“Uh, I uh... He... y-yeah. How was your trip?” Tony bumbled. He snapped his head back in the direction of the living room in a hurry, “Dad! Someone to see you!”

“It was agreeable,” the man concluded tritely, not interested in sparing much time on his son’s friend. “May I come in?” It sounded more like an expectation than an inquiry.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry.” Tony swallowed, stepping back from the doorway and casting his eyes to the floor. He didn’t even feel comfortable enough to mention the shoe rule. Mr. Banner entered only so far as the atrium, sliding his hands into his pockets to wait for the man of the house to arrive.

Howard Stark didn’t leave him waiting long. “Mr. Banner,” he greeted simply with a nod, cinching the cord on his robe taut around his middle.

Could neither of them be bothered to get dressed in the morning? Brian caught himself glowering. “Mr. Stark,” he returned. They didn’t shake hands.

“So then. How can I help you?”

“As you may recall, I had a matter I wished to discuss with you,” Bruce’s father glanced only flickeringly in Tony’s direction, “in private.”

Howard regarded his son. “Go to your room, Tony,” he said.

Tony caught the look in his father’s eyes that said ‘I’ll tell you everything that happened as soon as he leaves.’ He nodded and moved past both men, trying not to glare too hard at Bruce’s dad as he went to snag his waffles and go upstairs.

When his gaze returned to Brian Banner, Howard stood impassive. “We have a no-shoes policy. Unless you wanted to talk right here...” he trailed off, trying very hard not to roll his eyes at the other man’s penny loafers. It wasn’t that he was by any means that pretentious, but come on-- a pair of sandals wouldn’t have killed him.

“Hm,” Brian made a noise of subtle interest. One rule of precious few. Obligingly, he removed his loafers one by one and placed them next to the door, bringing himself back to his full height when he was done. “Shall we proceed, then?”

“Follow me,” Howard offered, turning to lead the guest toward his office.

Brian did as asked, taking in the Stark abode as they went. It was a frivolous waste of space if he ever saw one, in all likelihood built to impress that wife of his, back when she’d been alive. Despite the pervasiveness of his thoughts, he kept his jaw firmly shut as the two of them turned into Mr. Stark’s office. Howard shut the door and they both sat down.

Brian crossed a leg over a knee. “It has come to my attention, Mr. Stark, that you let your boy run rampant. His words are rampant, his actions are rampant, and it concerns me insofar as the effect he has on my son.”

Howard hummed in response, eyes narrowing only slightly, _‘Tell me how you_ really _feel.’_ He kept his gaze on Brian as he rounded his desk and took a seat, “I’d disagree with your description of my son, but we’re entitled to our opinions.” _‘And you’re sure as Hell not gonna like mine.’_

Brian’s nostrils flared as he let out a snort. “It takes a great deal of humility to recognize our own flaws; it takes an entirely different level of humility to see the flaws in our own offspring,” he said with a measure of condescendence.

“Oh, I know Tony’s not perfect, but he’s hardly a bull in a china shop.”

“Reckless, then. Foolhardy and irresponsible,” Brian issued with quick efficiency, eying his opponent across the desk. “Call it what you will, Mr. Stark, but the problem remains.”

“I didn’t bring you into my home to attack my son’s character,” one of Howard’s eyebrows lifted; it was all the more he could do to not let his voice do the same.

“And yet it pertains to the problem at hand,” Brian spoke calmly.

“My son’s _actions_ , perhaps,” the billionaire corrected. “Actions he wasn’t alone in taking.”

The words didn’t phase the man at all. “I am very well aware of Bruce’s involvement in this. Which is why I have taken the necessary punitive measures of grounding him.”

“I wouldn’t see you do any different,” Howard nodded to show he wasn’t contesting that. “He’s _your_ son. But I have no intention of showing up at your front door to pin a scarlet letter to his chest either.”

“Again, Anthony is no concern of mine, the concern lies where _my_ boy is influenced by _yours_ : In these past few months, I’ve allowed him to associate with your son as a matter of course.” Brian’s fingers steepled together as he spoke. “I did not initially foresee any difficulties such as these arising. But it is my responsibility as a father to take action now that they have.”

Howard clicked his tongue. He leaned forward over his desk, regarding the other man. “Mr. Banner, I don’t think you have any idea how many speeches and proposals I have to sit through during a regular work day. So, I appreciate your verbosity from an intellectual standpoint, and I’m sure plenty of people find the slow build _very_ intimidating. But if we ever find ourselves sharing words again, I’d appreciate it if we could skip the opening monologue and just get to the damn _point_.”

“Very well,” Brian snapped, his upper lip curling as his fingers clenched on the armrests of his chair. He would give the over-privileged bastard what he wanted to hear. “You’ve been a negligent father. You’ve made no effort in disciplining your son, nor have you provided a model whereby to follow.” His face laxed for just a moment, “Anthony is a bright boy-- I would not have allowed my son to form a bond with him otherwise-- what he has lacked is a structured home in which to grow up.”

“I think the same of your son. And I’m fully aware of my own mistakes as a father; I’ve been taking steps to rectify them,” Howard said, straightening in his seat, but slightly less comfortably than before. He’d been hoping to keep this somewhere between pleasant and diplomatic, but the cheap shot was open, so he was going to take it. “I can’t see you saying the same of yourself.”

Brian put out a palm to slap it with the back of his other hand in front of him. “At least I have supplied expectations! A sense of integrity!”

The billionaire found a remarkably uninteresting spot on his wall to look at, as if to suggest it were more interesting than the dialogue at hand. “I’d wager your influence reaches further than just setting expectations and fostering integrity...” he said, blasé.

“I seem to recall you stated an indifference towards my methods of instruction, Mr. Stark,” the man growled dangerously.

“I remarked that I wasn’t going to impose my disciplinary methods upon your household,” Howard said as his head snapped back. “ _You_ opened the floor for opinions, and I’m sure you’re secure enough in your conviction that you wouldn’t deny me _mine_.” 

Brian offered another snort and forced himself to sit back in his chair-- he’d leaned a fair bit further forward than he’d realized during the heat of their exchange. He didn’t speak.

Howard seemed to check his posture and composure as well before he spoke again. “I’m not oblivious to the company my son keeps. I know your son has a pretty colorful history. And while I have nothing against Bruce, especially after meeting the boy, it says just as much about his father’s influence as Tony’s behavior says about my past negligence.”

The words appeared to smooth some of the tension over. “I am not apologetic for how I have chosen to raise my son, nor was my mother in how she ‘raised’ me,” Brian answered deflectively. “In time, Bruce will become his own man. He will face his own decisions about how to raise _his_ children.” He paused, seeming lost in thought as his eyes dropped to scan the floor. “By then I can only hope he will understand that I meant well for him...” he spoke with a gravelled softness. When the man looked back up, his eyes had hardened once more, and he stood in indication that their conversation was at an end. He scowled at the billionaire behind his desk. “I would _respectfully_ recommend that you take a good, hard look in the mirror, Mr. Stark. You do not have much longer to be a father to your son before he becomes a legal adult. And as far as Anthony goes... if he is to continue interacting with Bruce, I would suggest he do the same.”

Howard’s jaw clenched briefly upon mention of ‘adulthood’, eyes flickering over to the framed photograph of his wife propped on his desk. “I face my reflection every single day, Mr. Banner, as does Tony. I’m grateful for the man your son has fashioned himself into, and he’s been a positive influence on my boy. All I would ask for is your understanding that what transpired was an isolated incident; one that both our sons have been lucky enough to leave with nothing more or less than a lesson learned.”

Brian nodded with a stern stiffness. “I hope that it is the case. For better or worse, my boy has grown fond of yours; I hold no delusions that a simple grounding will keep them apart.”

“Likely not,” Howard’s moustache twitched. “Oh and Mr. Banner?” he got out before the other man could leave the room.

“Hm?” he turned back with the air of a man suspicious he was about to be rebuked.

“While I don’t appreciate the tone of your argument, I... do understand where you’re coming from. At least as far as my role in my son’s life is concerned.” Howard swallowed, carefully considering how much further he should continue. Bruce’s father was far from the most genial man he’d met, but he did seem to be the kind to put respect towards private matters. He squared his jaw, decision made, “It’s a very difficult thing to get attached to someone that you could lose, especially when it has happened once before. In that regard, you’re fortunate-- you won’t have to question whether Bruce will live long enough to benefit from your discipline.”

Brian Banner’s brow twitched in uncertainty about what he’d just been told; the widower was talking about his deceased spouse. “Losing a loved one is no excuse for allowing the needs of those still alive to go unattended.” The words spoke to a sentiment deep in the very core of his being. To the way he and his siblings had been neglected after his father’s death. Brian nodded, “I thank you for your time this morning. Perhaps the next shall be more...” his nose crinkled, “amicable.”

Howard nodded, “I’m sure it will.”

Brian extended his hand, and Howard took it firmly. “Mr. Stark.”

“‘Howard’ will do.” He paused, trying to remember if Mr. Banner’s first name had even been given in the time they’d been acquainted.

Another dubiously disapproving hum. “Brian.”

“Brian.” The billionaire nodded. Now if the man could get his _son_ to learn that trick, Howard would turn Tony into whatever trick poodle this guy expected him to be, no questions asked. When he concluded the handshake, Howard reached for the door, swinging it open.

“Wait!” Tony’s voice echoed from the general direction of the stairs as the teenager rushed to meet the two men before they could get too far, “Bruce left his present here yesterday.” He held up his friend’s iPod in one shaking hand, the headphones wound loosely around it, but hesitated. He scratched the back of his head. “I, um... I already apologized to Bruce yesterday, but I... I’m sorry. It was a stupid decision, and I shouldn’t have let him get involved.”

“As your father has assured me, it is one that will not happen again,” Brian said sternly. He eyed the music player he recognized from Christmas, taking it into custody. “I’ll see that he gets it. You’ll be seeing him again when school starts; he is grounded until then and has a strict curfew of eleven o’clock.”

Tony nodded, reminding himself once again that he needed to pick his battles; he wasn’t the only one who could suffer consequences if he chose to snap back at Bruce’s father. And as much of a prick as he was, the man had a point. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re doing better already, Anthony,” Brian delivered and he exited out the front door.

Tony had to swallow down the overwhelming urge to spit once the door had been closed.

\--

The squeak of the garage door rolling up lifted Bruce’s nose from his book, his brown eyes wide. His father was back from Tony’s. Jamming a bookmark into Isaac Asimov’s ‘The Positronic Man’, he climbed out of bed, threw open his bedroom door and dashed out of his room. In his hurry, he nearly ran smack into the man, skidding to a halt and inducing a nice carpet burn on his heels.

“Ah, Bruce, there you are,” his father gave him an almost knowing look up and down. “Tony said you left this at his house.” He extended the device that had been entrusted to him.

The boy’s eyes lit up and he took it, resisting the urge to clutch it tightly to his chest, instead just winding the cord around his fingertips in idle gesture. “Did you... did you tell him?” he asked, desperate to hear anything, _anything_ about his friend and how he was.

“Yes, I informed him.”

Bruce let out a little sigh; he’d been hoping for more information than that, but at least he knew his friend knew now and wouldn’t be freaking out over him. “Thank you, sir,” he nodded shallowly. With a heavy heart, he turned to go back to his room. Only one night down and five more to go. He brushed his thumbs over his iPod reverently; he was glad Tony had managed to find it and had reunited him with it, even if he couldn’t reunite the two of them. A bittersweet smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

He got back onto his bed, setting the electronic beside him as he picked his book up to resume where he’d left off. He’d gotten about another ten pages when he heard something give a jingle. He knew it wasn’t his phone, that was still up in his father’s desk drawer. Confused, the high schooler lowered the novel and realized the screen of his iPod was lit. Wait, wasn’t it just a music player...? He reached out for it and both his eyebrows lifted at the message displayed.

_‘Congratulations Mr. David Bruce Banner. You have been pre-selected to participate in the BETA release of JARVIS 3.0.5. To accept or decline, please respond to this message ASAP.  
-Anthony Stark, Head Developer, CEO, and Saver of Days.’_

He wasn’t sure if he should be suspicious or excited about what his friend had apparently taken the liberty of loading on to his iPod. Casting a quick glance up at his door, he poked ‘Respond’, halfway expecting to see a Terms and Conditions display next. A keypad came up and he tilted it sideways to thumb in, _‘I Accept.’_

It took about a minute, but a response popped up on his screen. _‘Hey, Big Guy. I hope you don’t mind that this kind of hardware modification probably voided the warranty...’_

Bruce could scarcely believe it. He was actually in communication with his friend. He texted back quickly, unable to keep himself from asking, _‘You added a texting function to my iPod?? How did you even manage that?’_ It wasn’t like they had wi-fi. Was it connected via satellite? Probably, the Stark family had one of everything it seemed. A satellite in space didn’t seem too far-fetched.

_‘The iPod touch already has a text app. Several really crappy ones, actually. God, Bruce, don’t sell me short. I won’t go into the details right now, but suffice to say you’ve got an easily concealed, updated version of JARVIS that’s directly linked to mine. Think of it like two tin cans on a really long string. Yes, I know I’m awesome; save your applause for video chat. I want to be able to hear it.’_

His heart was fit to burst with elation. Bruce glanced at his door again, a little paranoid tic like he was worried he’d somehow be caught. _‘We’d better stick to text for now. At least until my parents go to bed.’_ he keyed back, not wanting to attract attention with their voices. But God, he was just so happy to even have _this_ much.

_‘No biggie. And as far as privacy goes, just tap the center of the screen and hold and it switches to Angry Birds. Even Clint and Natasha would have a hard time catching us.’_

Bruce gnawed his lower lip. It was good info, but in the likelihood of getting into _further_ trouble, he’d just as soon not risk taking it much further afield than the closed doors of his room. _‘Not them I’m worried about.’_

_‘Haha. Yeah, I’m not too worried about your dad. You would think that a guy as educated as he is smug would recognize a trojan horse when he saw one.’_

Their conversation was pretty light-hearted currently, but Bruce couldn’t keep himself from asking one of the big things on his mind. _‘Do you have any idea what they talked about? Your dad and mine?’_

_‘Dad sent me to my room before they actually got to talking.’_

Bruce was keying in a response about being incredulous that his friend had actually listened to that command when Tony’s second one came in. _‘So naturally I eavesdropped. Plus, the old man filled me in on everything I missed.’_

Bruce wet his lips. _‘And?’_ he typed back expectantly.

_‘He thinks I’m a bad influence, but he knows he can’t keep you from associating with me.’_

Bruce couldn’t help but snort. This conversation they were currently having more than attested to that. _‘You *are* a bad influence.’_ he pointed out. _‘And no, he can’t.’_ he added a split-second later.

_‘Which is why he has to show up at my front door and tell my *dad* to tell *me* to be a better influence on *his* son.’_

Bruce felt his tongue prod around in his mouth, searching for a good response to that. He was far from pleased with this situation, being estranged from his friend, but perhaps for the first time ever he felt like he’d been _properly_ disciplined, instead of just being hit for his transgressions. His father had done what any good parent ought to by going over to discuss matters with Tony’s father, ‘who-influenced-who’ aside.

Tony responded before he could. _‘I’m never gonna do what I did again, okay? I promise.’_

His lips pursed tightly. _‘Tony, it’s about way more than that.’_

_‘Okay, but I wanted to tell you that. I’m never gonna put me or you in that situation again. Or worse.’_

_‘We’re past it, okay? It’s not important anymore so leave it alone.’_ You could almost hear the gruffness sent through the text.

There was a decent sized pause between that text and his friend’s reply. He could almost sense Tony weighing his response, _‘You gonna tell me what’s on your mind?’_

Bruce sighed out, gaze dropping down into his lap. There had been a lot of things on his mind in the first day and a half of his grounding. Unpleasant things. Realities he didn’t like. He could almost picture Tony on the other end, arms folded and foot tapping impatiently for his response. _‘No, it’s fine. I’m sorry. Thanks for the upgrade.’_

_‘Bruce, seriously.’_

_‘Sorry, Mom’s calling. I’ll catch you later.’_ Bruce lied. He set the iPod on his desk far out of his reach and picked up his book. He wasn’t supposed to be talking with Tony anyway.


	39. Chapter 39

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” Rebecca pressed her lips softly to his forehead beneath his curls.

“Night, Mom...” Bruce responded despondently, staring at the floor.

She looked at her poor, inconsolable little boy sadly, skimming her fingers through his hair. “You know it’s not forever, baby.”

The ache in his chest doubled-- he’d gotten used to having Tony do that now. Regardless, his head tipped into the gesture instinctually. Of course what his mother didn’t understand was that there was a great deal more to his unhappiness than just missing Tony. “I know,” he mumbled back.

The woman leaned in and put one more kiss on his forehead before turning to go to the master bedroom. Bruce sighed and entered his own bedroom, where he’d kept himself locked up pretty much the entire day except for a couple hours at lunch and dinner. ‘The Positronic Man’ had already made it back to his shelf and now he scanned his eyes gloomily over the other dozens of choices at his fingertips.

_‘Just pick one,’_ he thought to himself with irritation. They were all good reads, he _knew_ that, and yet he had _zero_ interest in _any_ of them. This used to be good enough for him, he thought. To get lost in a book when he was sad or hurt or angry. What had changed so much that he couldn’t do it now? With a growl, he forced his eyes shut and hovered his hand over the spines. When the moment felt right, he put his fingers down upon one and pulled it from the shelf, opening his eyes to look down at his selection.

‘A Separate Peace’.

A snarl left his lips and he threw the novel across the room. It landed ungracefully, spine bent and pages folded underneath it. His huff of satisfaction didn’t last long, becoming a gentle whimper as he slithered down to the floor.

He knew exactly what had changed.

Bruce lifted his gaze to his desk where Tony’s Christmas gift hadn’t moved since he’d put it there that morning. He wet his lips. He had mentioned the possibility of video-chatting once his parents had gone to bed... but did he even really _want_ to talk to Tony?

Well that was a stupid question. He _did_ want to, he just _shouldn’t_. He was grounded. But what else was he going to do? He wasn’t tired, he didn’t want to read anything, he couldn’t smoke, and the thought of listening to his friend’s album right now only left a bad taste in his mouth. Silently hating himself for giving in so easily, he grabbed the iPod off the desk and shut himself in his closet, lying front-down on the carpeted floor.

It only took a little poking around to figure out how to activate the voice-recognition feature in the programming. “JARVIS, put me through to Tony, would you?” he asked.

“It would be my pleasure, sir,” the device answered.

\--

Tony was lying in bed, considering turning in for the night for the umpteenth time when he heard his phone chime, followed by JARVIS’ polite intonation. “Sir, Bruce Banner is attempting to initiate a video-conversation. Shall I accept?”

Tony had to fight the urge to jump at the opportunity. He was still sore about having to wait so long to hear back. “Yeah, accept the call.” His display lit up with the face of his friend which was fairly washed out for the low lighting he was in. Tony sighed, propping the phone up against the lava lamp on his nightstand, mainly so he could lay comfortably on his side while he glared at the camera.

Bruce cleared his throat. He hadn’t given this part any thought. “Uhh... hi,” he bumbled out.

“Hey,” Tony deadpanned, “I hope your mom gave you a lunch break somewhere in there; they established child labor laws for a reason.”

If his ears were capable of drooping, they would have. “I’m sorry,” Bruce apologized listlessly, “I just didn’t feel like talking...” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I kind of guessed. At least after the second hour.” Tony rolled his eyes. “So what’s up?” he added.

Bruce grunted. “Just didn’t feel like going to bed yet,” he replied honestly.

From the looks of things, his friend’s attitude hadn’t improved much since morning. Tony’s jaw squared. “I’m not going to ask what your problem was earlier. You can tell me whenever you feel like it, or not at all. On one condition,” he held up a finger where Bruce would be able to see it, “next time you don’t feel like talking, just _tell_ me you don’t feel like talking. You got it?”

“Yeah... fine,” Bruce agreed with a single-shouldered shrug that didn’t look terribly convincing. “On the condition that if I say I don’t feel like talking, you don’t keep pestering me anyway,” he countered. If there was one thing Tony didn’t know how to do, it was leaving well enough goddamn alone.

“I’ll do my best,” the teen asserted. “I didn’t pick up to get into an argument; I picked up because I wanted to hear from you. Are you doing alright?”

The other boy sighed, moving his gaze away from the screen to contemplate a moment. “Yeah, I guess I’m fine,” he shrugged both his shoulders this time. His eyes returned to the display, staring at his friend longingly. “What about you? I mean, what are you up to?” he thought to ask.

Tony chuckled, “Shit, I was about to say. Can you hold up a minute? I have something I need to take care of quick.”

Bruce snorted out a laugh, lips finally curling up against the frown he’d had all day. “I always call at the worst times, don’t I?” he murmured with a slight lilt.

“What are you talking about?” Tony raised an eyebrow.

Now that Bruce was thinking about it... mutual masturbation wouldn’t be the worst way to kill some time before bed. Would also likely reduce some of the day’s built-up stress. He wet his lips and stared down his friend on the screen with half-lidded eyes. “Why don’t we both take care of it and not hold either of us up?” he suggested, sitting up to undo his belt.

“What do you--?” Tony started, before realizing what Bruce was getting at, “Whoa! Hey, that’s not what I was--”

“Don’t tell me you all this time you’ve been hiding an aversion to phone sex,” the teen said disbelievingly, reaching into his hamper to grab a dirty sock.

Tony scoffed, “No. It’s just...” He stopped himself from saying what he wanted to say: that he hadn’t intending for this just to be a way for them to get off during his friend’s grounding. He missed Bruce for a lot more than sex. Was it silly of him to have hoped to just ‘have a chat’ with his best friend? He swallowed down the urge with a little regret and shook his head slowly, undoing his pants, “Right. Sorry.”

Bruce’s fingers twitched to the sound of Tony’s buckle coming from the little device on the floor in front of where he was knelt. He wished he could be there to undress Tony himself, take the opportunity to run his hands over every inch of him; he clicked his tongue. “Take off your shirt; I want to see it...” he murmured.

Tony couldn’t help but smirk just a little. Regardless of whether this what what he’d originally planned or not, it was always nice to be admired by someone you felt the same way towards. His smirk twisted just slightly, turning devilish as he lifted the hem of his shirt with deliberate slowness, teasing his one man audience.

The teen gave a snort. Tony had obviously watched far too much porn. On the other hand, Bruce could feel his anatomy twitching to attention as his friend revealed more and more of himself, so maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. “Come on... a little further...” he breathed out when he saw the hint of the bottom of the scar.

Tony drew the hem up even more slowly, dragging a couple stray fingers along either side of the mark as he revealed it, stimulating himself a little in the process. It wasn’t Bruce, but it would have to do for now, until they were back together. “I really wish you were here right now.”

Bruce mentally ditto’d that sentiment. “If I was, I can tell you what I’d be doing right now...”

Tony wrestled the offending garment off the rest of the way, tossing it somewhere off-camera. The fingers of his left hand returned to his scar, his right hand dipping below the waistband of his boxers to gently fondle himself, “Then tell me.”

His voice got huskier, “I’d push you down into the bed... run my hands all _over_ you...” The prior remorse he’d felt in contacting his friend was quickly fading into the background of his other thoughts. Thoughts like how to get his pants off fast enough now that his hard-on was pressing into them and making things difficult, as well as the fact that he was kneeling in near-darkness and really didn’t want to look away from the screen for any length of time, no matter how short. He fought and fumbled and at the sound of Tony laughing, his face heated with a blush. It had completely slipped his mind that Tony was watching him the same way Bruce was watching his friend.

“What’s going on over there? I can barely make you out, let alone get you off,” Tony piped in with a chortle at his own bad joke.

Bruce’s face twisted. “Sorry... give me... two seconds,” he flashed two fingers. He stood and moved off-screen and the closet light came on almost blindingly overhead.

“Oh thank God. I was starting to worry that I’d have to squint the whole time,” Tony said with his signature smirk, “...though that’s five seconds already; where are you? I’m made of money, Bruce, not time,” he added teasingly.

The boy came back naked (well, naked save the spectacles still perched on his nose, Tony noticed), pesky clothes no longer an embarrassment. “Took a little longer than projected,” he shot back, settling back in with his back against the wall; he found a better place to prop his phone so his partner could have a better angle.

Tony’s eyes took in every inch of the screen greedily, his mouth slightly ajar, “Oh God... Take all the time you need.”

“Hm...” Bruce hummed thoughtfully at that, since the way he’d ignored Tony all day was still heavy on his mind. He gripped his erection loosely, coiling his fingers only partially around it as he gave it a long stroke upward for the camera in front of him. “I intend to. I have a lot of bad memories in this closet... maybe you can do something to make me ‘get over it’ like you did Pepper and the basement.”

Tony lapped his chops. “I can definitely do that, but you know we’ll both have to come out of that closet eventually,” he then responded, trying his best to deliver the line with a straight face. He succeeded, for all of three seconds.

Bruce only snorted in response. “Very funny, Tony.”

The billionaire chuckled briefly. “Alright, but seriously now,” he started, his body language conveying the message as his words tapered off. He pushed his waistband down off his legs, kicking the boxers away and resumed lightly stroking, “Why don’t you go back to telling me what you’d be doing if you were here...?”

The teen was more than happy to go back to indulging that fantasy. “I’d start at the top and work my way down. Kiss you breathless, until you were too light-headed to tell me what to do.”

Tony laughed. “Do you really feel like I tell you what to do that much?”

“Only sometimes...” Bruce hummed as he continued to move his hand up and down his length, “But when you’re really, really excited… you stop verbalizing and start moaning instead.” His lip lifted a touch at the corner. “And that’s pretty hot.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” the goateed boy smirked; he made sure to add a groan when he said, “Keep going.”

The instruction was a case in point, but Bruce kept that to himself. He swept his tongue around the inside of his mouth, thinking a moment before continuing. “I’d make my way down your neck with little nips...”

“Nips are good,” Tony nodded, tilting his head to the side as he imagined it as if to allow Bruce to do so if he was physically there.

“...Then I’d do the same across your collarbone.”

Tony reflexively bit part of his lower lip in anticipation-- he knew where the big guy was going even before he’d said it. “Yeah... yeah...” he encouraged, tightening his grip around his cock.

“When I got to the top of your scar, I’d lift my mouth up so all you could feel was my warm breath,” Bruce was sure to be very specific, watching for his friend’s reaction over the phone.

“Tease,” Tony imputed. Though there was technically nothing to feel, he could still imagine it well enough to squirm a bit where he lay.

Bruce chuckled. “It’d be worth it when I put the tip of my tongue at the bottom and slowly began to drag it up.”

“Shit, yeah it would...” the other teen agreed whole-heartedly, arching slightly into the imaginary sensation as he rubbed at himself more aggressively.

“I’d stay there awhile,” Bruce went on, “until you were really worked up, like the first time I ran my tongue over it and you were gasping for me to stop because you were about to cum...”

Tony let a similiar gasp slip past his lips, the words evoking the memory. “I was just excited, okay?” he defended. Not that he wasn’t now too; he nibbled his lower lip more aggressively, taking the moment to slow his hand motion a bit so he wouldn’t ramp up to his peak quite so quickly.

“Uh huh,” Bruce smiled, stroking himself at the sight of his friend’s attempts to disguise his arousal. “I’d give it a couple more licks before lifting up and scooching down so I could put my mouth around your cock.”

“Oh _God_ yeah... keep going,” Tony breathed out more than spoke. Jesus, how long had Bruce been thinking about this? Did he ever _stop_ thinking about this? Tony couldn’t help but snort briefly at the thought that passed through his head immediately afterwards, before quelling it just as quickly and issuing a brief, “Sorry.”

“What is it?” Bruce lifted an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” Tony repeated himself, “I was just thinking of how sex talk used to piss you off.” He chuckled, his smile growing a little warmer before continuing, “You’ve changed a _lot_. It’s... really something.”

Bruce coughed, the unexpected sentiment making him feel more bare than being physically undressed. “Yeah. I guess so.” He wet his lips, looking down to where he’d paused his hand movement. “I’m, uh... not doing this wrong, am I?”

“What? No. I mean, you’ve... self-serviced before, right?” Tony smirked playfully, the question only half-serious.

His face scrunched up; he’d never made it a frequent habit, he hadn’t ever had much in the way of ‘sexual drive’ before Tony barged his way into his life. “Yes,” he answered, “I meant... nevermind.”

"No no, it's--" Tony shook his head rapidly, not wanting Bruce to get the wrong idea, "Big guy, really... You're amazing. You're doing fine."

Bruce chuckled sheepishly, looking at the carpet of his closet. “Well, alright. Um...” Now that he’d lost stride, he wasn’t sure how to resume.

Tony thought over something before speaking, "...and I'd slip my hands behind your neck, into your hair, and pull you down to take more of me. I'd start to lift my hips..." he purred out, nodding for Bruce to continue.

The other teen wet his lips at the imagery. “Would you moan?” he asked.

"You know that I would," Tony chuckled, "But for the sake of argument..." he hummed, moaning out just a little as he continued, "Hell yeah, I would."

Bruce smiled internally. “I bet you’d moan even louder when I started swirling my tongue around you, bobbing my head...”

"You'd probably have to tell me to quiet down before my dad woke up," Tony continued, though he didn't make any effort to quiet the moans that continued to pass his lips now.

“Mm...” Bruce felt a hard shiver course up his spine and he manipulated himself faster, “I love how hard it is for you to stay quiet when we’re not alone. I like watching you come undone little-by-little.” He murmured, spring-boarded back into the narrative. “I’d push your hips down with one hand while I sucked you off, move the other up to stroke that scar of yours with each motion of my tongue...”

If Tony closed his eyes he could almost feel it. He let out another moan, “And right about then I’d ask you if we could skip the teasing... even though it’s actually my favorite part.”

Bruce couldn’t help but chuckle at that one. “Uh huh. And then I’d smile around you and wait until your curiosity got the better of you and you asked me why I was smiling like that.” He paused a moment, to artificially create the same tension. “Then I’d lift my mouth off you just long enough to wet my fingers to the knuckle before going back to it... and I’d slide each finger into you... _one by one_...” he breathed with what could only be described as sultry emphasis.

"Hold on," Tony's breaths grew steadily heavier, working his length with one hand while the other pawed around for something off-screen. He brought forth a small bottle and began coating his fingers with what was inside, "Gotta catch up."

Bruce watched with rapt interest, wetting his lips; he had a good idea where his friend was planning to put those lubed fingers.

Tony smirked briefly before positioning himself and sliding the first digit in slowly and sliding it back out and then in again. Well, it was different, doing it for himself as opposed to having Bruce do it. It was pleasurable, sure, but it was missing that lack of control that he felt when it was left to the big guy’s discretion. Slipping the second finger in beside the first, he let out a grunt, allowing himself some time to grow accustomed to the feeling again. Once he was ready to move on, he stopped his motions and looked to the screen wantonly, panting out his question, "And then?"

Bruce had been watching unblinkingly, soaking up every pixel of visual stimuli as he beat himself at a rapid pace. “Fuck, Tony, you are turning me on so much...” he said. Something about Tony finger-fucking himself to the thought of him was really, really hot. The lustful look in those big brown eyes left no room for further hesitation. “I’d start to suck a little harder... timing each one with a crook of my fingers...”

"A-and I'd have to stop you, because..." Tony panted out, pausing briefly.

“Because you’d be about to cum?” Bruce guessed. He wouldn’t be the only one...

"N-no..." Tony's eyes stared right back at his through the screen, full of need. He knew it wasn't physically possible in this situation, but they were acting out fantasies, so he said what came naturally, "Because I'd want you _in_ me."

That admission caused a hard shudder to course through the other teen and he hurriedly cupped the sock over the head of his cock; he had to bite down on his lower lip to stifle the noise that left him so his parents on the other side of the wall couldn’t hear, but when his lower regions finished convulsing, he tilted his head back into the wall with a groan.

Tony paused briefly in his actions to scrutinize the screen of his device, a devilish smirk threatening the corners of his mouth, "Bruce? Big guy... did you just--?"

He didn’t yet lower his head, instead just chuckling. “Yeah, sorry.”

"No, don't be," Tony reassured, feeling rather smug he’d tipped the other teen over the edge first. He stroked harder and faster as he fingered himself, closing his eyes to consider his own words. Bruce pressing down over him… pressing into him. "I'm gonna... s-soon... too..." he panted heavily, white bordering his vision and blood rushing in his veins. It didn't take long after he spoke, and he came with a jerky groan.

The tingling was gradually beginning to recede from his extremities as Bruce shifted, joints a little stiff from how he’d been seated on the carpeted floor of his closet. Yeah, that was a better memory than the rest. He dabbed the remainder of the jism away with the sock and issued conversationally, “Next time we’re together, I’ll make sure you get what you want.”

Tony chuckled, "The only thing I want is _you_. I can negotiate for anything else; we have a good lawyer."

Bruce nodded his way through a yawn. “Hey, be right back, okay? I’m gonna get changed,” he imparted before standing to exit the closet in seek of some nightclothes.

"Don't make me wait too long," Tony called, taking the time to get cleaned up and dressed as well.

Yep, definitely more calm and relaxed now, Bruce thought to himself as he pawed lackadaisically through his drawers. He tugged on boxers and a tee sluggishly, making his way back to where he’d left his iPod and shutting the door behind him. When he was situated once more, he picked up the electronic to hold it a little closer. “Thanks for picking up,” the teen said with a slight blush, “I think I might have really needed that.”

"Any time," Tony assured with a smirk. He hesitated for a moment before continuing, "I, uh... I miss you." It felt silly to be saying it already, but he did. It worried him to know how dependent his mood could be on Bruce's presence, considering the big guy's habit of walling people out when he had a problem. Add on the stress of their recent confessions to each other still hanging heavy over their heads and he just wasn't sure he could handle being separated right now.

“I miss you too, Tony.” Bruce’s mouth twitched downward before he echoed his mother’s words, “but it’s not forever. School will start soon and...” he smiled in spite of himself, “we’ll be back together.”

“Yeah,” Tony answered distractedly, already building plans in his head for how to break Bruce’s curfew without getting either of them caught.

“I know that look...” Bruce lifted an eyebrow at his friend on-screen, “What are you planning?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Tony replied, giving the camera his best poker face, “However, on an unrelated note, if you feel like keeping me up to date on when your parents are out of the house and for roughly how long they expect to be out...” he nearly singsonged.

Bruce just shook his head with a chagrined laugh. As elated as he was about the idea of seeing his friend, face-to-face (and getting to touch him... hug him, kiss him...), there was still that concern about getting caught and what the _additional_ consequences would be. Did he really want Tony getting him into more trouble? He hung his head slightly. “I really shouldn’t. But that’s probably why I will,” he admitted.

“I’ve corrupted you alright,” Tony replied smugly. “Just two more souls and I’ll get my horns in the mail.”

“I’m pretty sure Hell would have a more efficient way to deliver a package, Tony.”

“Well yeah, maybe,” Tony scoffed, rolling his eyes, “But they own the United States Postal Service already anyways, and the DMV, so...”

And just like that they fell into an easy and light-hearted banter that lasted well beyond two in the morning, seeming to clear the bad air between them from earlier in the day. Bruce rubbed a knuckle into his right eye socket beneath his lenses... his eyes felt so tired and dry he wasn’t sure how much longer he could even keep them open. Not to mention his iPod was down to its last red sliver of power. “I better...” he started, yawning through the rest of the sentence, “go to bed and get some sleep.”

Tony was about to argue, but his mouth was split by a yawn before he could make the attempt. He stretched his arms out, “Yeah, okay, sounds like a good idea.” He rubbed his eyes briefly, “See you tomorrow?”

By ‘see’ Bruce wondered if Tony meant they’d just be having another late-night video chat or if the teen had more than that up his sleeve. Resisting the urge to gnaw his thumbnail, he responded with a smile and an “Okay.”

Tony smiled sleepily back at him from the screen, “Great, I’ll pen it into my schedule--” Another yawn interrupted his speech briefly, “...when I wake up.”

Why the Hell was his friend so adorable? “Uh huh,” Bruce responded, wetting his lips. Were either of them going to say it? I love you. It was the thing you said when you were saying goodbye to someone you cared about. He could say it now, but he was concerned it would sound tacked on. And it seemed maybe like Tony might be dodging it too, but neither of them had hung up either so it remained to be said.

Tony remained silent for a moment, musing over his next words before letting out a brief chuckle, “It’s stupid, but... I really hate the part where one of us has to hang up.”

“I don’t like it any more than you do,” Bruce contested with half a smile, rubbing the side of his nose.

Tony sighed contentedly. It didn’t feel as ridiculous if he knew Bruce felt the same about it. Still… “I’m keeping us up, huh?” he said more than asked, realizing the more they talked about going to bed, the less likely it was that they would get around to it.

Bruce yawned again as he laid down on the floor of his closet, setting his iPod on its side so he could still see Tony rightside-up. “Maybe,” he got out.

Tony pouted, “Bruce, are you going to sleep in your closet?”

The boy’s eyes were closed, but he smiled. “Only if you don’t say goodnight,” he murmured drowsily.

“That’s emotional blackmail. You know I’m not going to--” another yawn broke his momentum, “Ngh... stand for that.”

“Uh huh...” was the only thing that left Bruce’s lips.

“Bruce, go to bed, and then I’ll say goodnight,” Tony said as firmly as his current level of consciousness would allow, “I love you, but I don’t trust you right now.”

At first it looked maybe as though Bruce had already fallen asleep (because the only thing moving was his ribcage), but very slowly he pulled himself upright. “What was that about emotional blackmail?” he asked as he grabbed the device and drug his feet the entire way to the bed. He reached for the charger and plugged the iPod in, keeping it close to his chest as he slid under the covers. His eyes were half-lidded and he smiled at the boy on-screen. Tony’d said it first. “I love you too.”

Tony smiled wide, but another yawn pre-empted his response, “Emotional blackmail nothing. Even _geniuses_ can’t pull off sleep denial. I was just calling your bluff.”

“What...” the teen tried to wade through that, but couldn’t, “what are you talking about?”

Tony rolled his eyes, “Sleep denial. It’s when someone lays down in their closet and tries to pretend they’re not going to fall asleep there if I say goodnight.”

Bruce snorted and wriggled to find a more comfortable position on his back. “So are you going to?”

“I technically said it twice already...” Tony sighed, “But yeah, I guess...” he paused, “G’night.”

Bruce stroked the side of the iPod with a sleepy smile. “‘Night, Tony.” He waited a moment, but his friend didn’t end the call. He blinked. “Are you gonna hang up?” he asked.

“Hm?” Tony stirred a little, mumbling into his arm. His head raised barely an inch.

“You said goodnight, but you didn’t hang up,” Bruce explained.

“Mmhmm...” Tony hummed peacefully, his steady breaths escaping into the crook of his elbow. Had he...? 

“Fine, I will,” Bruce shook his head. “Goodnight, Tony. I love you.” There, now he couldn’t feel awkward because they’d both initiated saying so.

“Love you too...” The answer was hindered by flesh and drowsy speech, and it seemed to taper off into a light snore near the end, but it was still unmistakable. Bruce ended the video chat with a poke of his finger and navigated to the music menu before grabbing his earbuds off the desk. Just one before he fell asleep and he knew which one.

He selected ‘I Don’t Wanna Miss A Thing’ and closed his eyes.

\--

In the past it had been his mother’s gentle singing that helped drift him off when he’d had trouble getting to sleep, but that morning it was what he awoke to. Bruce felt his eyelids flutter; he didn’t immediately get up, instead taking in the faded starscape above him and the song his mother was singing, barely audible through the walls of the house. Happiness. That was what the song conveyed. He could hear it in the notes as they carried through the air. A smile pricked at the corners of his mouth, even though he did not share the emotion.

Slowly he sat up. His father would have gone to work to finish out the rest of the week, so it was just he and his mom in the house that morning, Bruce knew. He stepped out of his room and followed the sound of her voice, finding her seated at the kitchen table. He paused in the hall, watching quietly from afar. Rebecca had an album open, and she was organizing and arranging photographs-- no doubt the ones she had mentioned from the recent trip-- peeling back the plastic to slip each 4x6 underneath it.

Bruce bit down on his lower lip hard enough to begin to hurt. He concluded that he shouldn’t interrupt what she was doing. Turning to go back to his room, he accidentally placed his foot down on the squeaky floorboard.

Rebecca turned around in her chair. “Oh, good morning, sweetheart,” she greeted with a smile, “I didn’t hear you come out.”

The boy rubbed the back of his neck. “Morning, Mom...” he returned, not explaining he hadn’t meant for her to hear him.

“Did you want me to make you breakfast?” she offered, making to stand.

Bruce shook his head. “It’s okay, Mom; I can make it myself.”

She smiled again and didn’t argue, returning to her sorting. “Every day now you seem to get more and more independent,” she observed with a fond tone. “This time last year you would have said yes.”

The teenager studied his toes. He supposed she was right, though it was difficult to remember when his mind was so muddled with the present. “Yeah,” he chose to mumble. Silently he walked over to pull out the chair beside her and sat down. His eyes scanned the photographs covering the tabletop but didn’t focus on any one in particular.

The woman sighed softly and set down the 4x6 she’d been holding, still smiling. “Of course, being independent means everything we do is up to us. And we’re bound to make little mistakes here and there along the way.”

Bruce felt his eyes prick somewhat. Though she was so, so gentle compared to his father, he found it impossible to hide his emotions from her. He bit his lip again and willed his composure to return.

Rebecca brushed her hand through the hair on the side of his head and he looked up at her with a watery gaze. “I want you to know that I’m not mad at you, sweetheart,” she said softly, leaning in to put a kiss to his forehead. “And I wish your father hadn’t been quite so harsh with you...”

Bruce blinked back the wetness in his eyes, shaking his head again. “N-no,” he responded, dragging the back of his sleeve across his nose as he sniffed, “He was... h-he was fine.” He didn’t want his mother thinking the man had done anything wrong in regards to his punishment. After all, he and she were on good terms again, and he definitely didn’t want to mess that up. Bruce looked down at one of the pictures closest to him-- his mother and father had gotten another visitor to take a snapshot for them, as they were both in the frame in front of the Edison Memorial Tower.

“Did you want to see?” Rebecca offered, seeing where his gaze had gone. Bruce couldn’t help but nod. She moved the album she’d been assembling closer to him, flipping to the front page. It was a brand new album; she hadn’t chosen to continue the half-filled one upstairs in the study. The first few pages were travelling pictures, stops they’d made and landmarks they’d seen along the road. From the poor photo quality of the developed prints, Bruce could have sworn he was looking back in time twenty years ago, rather than to a trip that had taken place last week. He might’ve asked his mother why she and his father hadn’t used a better camera in this day and age, but he didn’t need to ask to know why.

“And here’s the museum,” the woman went on, flipping another page as her son sat and looked. “They have nearly thirty-six acres of parkland, it’s really very gorgeous.”

He could see that. Also that his father had snapped a few extraneous pictures of his mom as she was knelt down in the meadow of flowers. She had a book on flower identification propped on her knees. Inside the album beside the photographs were two flowers, dried and pressed: a purple vetch and a red poppy.

Bruce’s fingers curled around the table edge. The words came out before he could stop them. “Mom, would you be happier if I moved out?”

Rebecca’s eyebrows twisted in worry, pressing a hand to her chest. “Bruce, honey, why would you think that?”

That definitely didn’t answer his question. And there were a _lot_ of reasons why he would think that. His father had practically threatened to throw him out, and he wondered now if it wouldn’t have been for the better. Bruce felt frustrated tears rising to the surface. “I j-just... you and Dad...” he got out, staring beneath the table.

“Both love you very much,” his mother said, as if finishing his sentence for him. She reached out to hug him to her breast.

He let himself cry into her blouse, clutching at the fabric. “B-but y-you and Dad are s-so much h-happier when I’m not there.” His voice hiccupped. “A-and... and you never fought before I was around… but n-now...”

Rebecca pulled back to look down at her son. “Of course we did, sweetie, you just weren’t there to see it.”

Part of him didn’t believe it, part of him _couldn’t_ believe it. Not from what he’d seen of that album in the study. They’d been too happy, too in love to get into fights. Bruce’s brow wrinkled. Then again... How many fights had he and Tony gotten into since telling one another their feelings...? Two big ones and at least a couple little ones, and how long had it been, two and a half days?? A new wave of nausea surged in his stomach.

His mother continued to stroke his hair. “You make me very happy, Bruce. I certainly wouldn’t be happier if you moved out. I’ll miss you every day once you go off to college, and I’ll look forward to every phone call and visit. Your father feels the same.”

That he _really_ couldn’t believe. If his dad wanted him to stay, why would he have said the things he did in the study?

_‘If living here is making you so unhappy, arrangements can be made to exempt you from being legally dependent.’_

Perhaps he’d misinterpreted the man’s words. If Brian had been offering to let him move out, rather than threatening to kick him out... Could that really have been what he meant?? Bruce rose to stand. “I’m gonna fix breakfast now,” he said expressionlessly.

Rebecca smiled, but there was obvious worry behind it. “Alright, darling.”

He removed himself from the dining room and headed into the kitchen.


	40. Chapter 40

The phone in his pocket vibrated. Tony wormed it out of his jeans pocket to check who had sent him a message. It was from Bruce, sent via his altered iPod. _‘Hey. Where are you right now?’_

Tony sighed, glaring at the clock in the sickeningly sterile-looking waiting room, then at the receptionist before quickly keying in his response, _‘Waiting to see the doctor. It’s been 45 minutes. You’d think for the big ass deal my dad made out of it they would have at least bothered to see me on time.’_

_‘Let me know how it goes. *When* it goes.’_

Tony snorted. _‘Ha. Ha. Will do.’_

“Look sharp, boy...”

Tony’s head snapped up at the sound and the light squeeze on his shoulder, courtesy of his father. He slipped the device back into his pocket upon noticing the nurse standing in the doorway, a practiced patience evident in her features. “Anthony Stark,” she read off the clipboard in her hands. Apparently his wait was over.

“Please don’t hit on the nurse this time,” Tony mumbled under his breath, following the woman in scrubs through the swinging doors to the scale so she could record his height and weight. Oh nice-- he’d actually grown an inch since his last check-up. Maybe he wouldn’t be short forever.

“Don’t be stupid,” Howard retorted once he had the window to, “Besides, you know my heart belongs to Re--”

“Don’t. Say. It,” Tony warned through clenched teeth, stepping off the scale. It was hard to tell whether his old man was kidding or not anymore. They continued down the hall, a few steps behind the nurse. She paused a few doorways down and gestured for them to step inside, “Right in here, Mr. Stark.”

“That reminds me...” Howard continued innocently, “How long do you think it will be before she starts cooking for me again?”

“Oh I don’t know,” Tony rolled his eyes as he passed through and took a seat on the wax-papered examination table; it crinkled underneath him as he shifted around, “Why don’t you try asking her _husband?_ ”

The nurse let out a quiet scoff before she’d realized. She shook her head and proceeded to take Tony’s blood pressure-- not that it was likely to be accurate with the current argument the father and son were having.

“Call me crazy, but I don’t think he likes me very much,” Howard replied, leaning in the doorway briefly before shrugging and taking a seat.

“You don’t say,” Tony faked wide-eyed surprise, “I can’t imagine why.”

His sarcasm earned him a glare from his father. “He’s not that fond of you either, boy.”

“My God. Today is just _full_ of surprises.” Tony rolled his eyes.

The nurse jotted down a few final notes in Tony’s chart and turned to leave, mildly flustered. “The doctor will be in shortly,” she told both men.

Howard raised an eyebrow as she passed through the doorway, “The Hell was _her_ problem?”

Tony simply shrugged. No point in feeding into it any more than he likely already had.

\--

Tony’s checkup had gone as routinely as he’d ever remembered. The doctor, who was the same one since his first visit at age eight, asked more questions than anything, though he did put the stethoscope to his chest to listen for any abnormality. Dr. Erskine had been happy to hear that Tony had reacted swiftly and taken all possible actions to shorten the duration and severity of the attack, though he chastised the boy for not calling the paramedics even though he attested to ‘feeling fine’ afterwards.

The doctor clicked his pen. “I am writing you a prescription for a new antiarrhythmic drug,” he explained as he penned, sparing only a moment to push the rounded spectacles up on his nose, “different than the one you have been on previously.” He tore the yellow leaflet from its pink partner to hand it to Tony. “I recommend you limit your diet and refrain from any overly stressful or strenuous activity as well.”

Tony couldn’t help but snort at that, and Dr. Erskine shook his head, betraying a knowing smile as he went to go fetch something from a cubby. “Please take off your shirt, Anthony,” he instructed as he tore into the plastic-wrapped package and removed the device within.

Tony did so, but not without some natural hesitation. “You this forward with all the boys, doctor?” he tried, though the delivery fell flat as his arms folded reflexively to cover his scar.

“I should say so,” the doctor gave him a mercy chuckle and proceeded to show him what he had. “This is a Holter monitor,” he explained as he prepped, “It goes around your neck while the electrodes are attached to your chest. They will allow the device to get a reading on your heart beat morphology, interval measurement, variability, rhythm overview... that kind of thing,” he circled his hand. He applied a dab of gel to one of said electrodes and stuck it beneath his left pectoral, close to his side.

Tony made a small yelp at the coolness of it. It was stuck fast now. Dr. Erskine continued the process for the other four, positioning another directly beneath his heart, two on either side of his clavicle, and one on his ribs on the right side. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it did make him rather self-conscious about the whole situation. An obvious question stuck out in his mind. “How long--” he began.

“Do not worry; twenty-four hours is all,” Erskine said, pulling the small plastic tab to activate the device now around the boy’s neck. “You have a follow-up appointment tomorrow, same time, so I can remove it and send it to the laboratory for analyzing. I want you to go about your ordinary day-to-day activities just as you normally would to acquire an optimal sampling of data.” Tony nodded. Dr. Erksine went on. “Also, be sure to place a marker so as to record any activity that might result in either an increase or decrease of your heart rate, such as going for a run or taking a nap, by pressing this button here,” the doctor showed him, pointing to it. “It will help the analysts.” He looked over the rounded rim of his glasses, German accent particularly thick, “Understood?”

“Got it.” Tony pulled his shirt back on over his head.

“So, Anthony, it looks like your birthday is coming up...” Dr. Erskine remarked as he scanned the teen’s chart, making a little small-talk now that the appointment had been concluded. Howard gave an almost imperceivable shift in his seat as he continued. “My goodness; eighteen in three months. I have been treating you for ten years now. If that does not make a man feel old...”

“You’re not gonna give me a lollipop now, are you?” Tony scoffed. He hoped there was strawberry left...

Dr. Erskine chuckled, “Nothing like that. It is just a milestone, that is all. Today you are just a teenager, but soon enough, your health, as well as every other aspect of your life, will be _your_ responsibility.”

“That’s pretty depressing,” Tony replied, “I think I’d rather have the lollipop.”

“Hm...” the doctor hummed. “I have lemon, that is all.” Tony wasn’t sure if the man was telling the truth or if that was some sort of crappy euphemism for life giving you lemons.

“Are we done here?” Howard piped in with a loud clearing of his throat.

The doctor looked like he wanted to say something else, but stopped himself, “Everything seems in order. Would you mind if I kept your father a few extra minutes, though?” He addressed the question to Tony.

“Go on ahead to the waiting room, boy. I won’t be long,” Howard added, waving his son towards the door. Tony paused briefly, but ultimately nodded and left. This was another common thing that happened during his check-ups when his father was present. The time he had to wait varied each time, but his father never told him what was said afterward. Tony had always figured it wasn’t important, because really, what horrible truth was left to learn about his condition that he hadn’t already?

He sighed and plopped down in his seat once he’d made the walk back, pulling out his phone once again to check his messages. He had three this time, from three different people, and they were very different:

_‘You know that thing I was avoiding talking about yesterday? It was about my dad. Something he said to me. I guess maybe I’d like to talk about it now, when you’re not busy.’_ Bruce, sent shortly after he’d gone in to be examined.

_‘How’s my favorite ex? Not too busy driving under the influence to pay me a little visit, is he?’_ Pepper, sent a few minutes ago.

_‘Tony, have you been in contact with Bruce? It’s been three days and I can’t seem to get ahold of his cell.’_ Betty, sent no more than a minute and a half ago.

Jesus, he knew he was popular, but did they _all_ have to text him at once? He chose to break the news to Betty first and get it out of the way. _‘Bruce is grounded until winter break’s over.’_

_‘Grounded? What happened??’_

_‘His dad is just being a hard-ass, as usual.’_ Tony dodged.

_‘He hasn’t been grounded in years.’_ Betty’s response came back.

Tony nibbled his lip self-consciously; Betty’s bullshit meter was as well-tuned as ever. _‘I got us both in trouble. We took some wasted kids home from the party and then got pulled over. No DUI but his dad was pretty steamed, I guess.’_

_‘That sucks. Well, put the word through to Bruce that when his grounding is over we should all do something together again.’_

Tony breathed out a short sigh of relief, smiling a tad at the fact that Betty figured he was in contact with Bruce despite the grounding. _‘Yeah, sounds fun.’_ he sent back before redirecting to Pepper’s message.

_‘In the middle of something right now. I’ll come visit in a few.’_ Tony ran a hand through his hair and hit send. If he hadn’t been as concerned with getting to Bruce’s message next, he probably would have taken more care not to give his ex the wrong idea. He navigated back to Bruce’s message and thumbed in a reply. _‘I’ll be heading home soon. Unless you want to talk now. I can do now.’_

The big guy didn’t take long to respond. _‘Oh. How did it go?’_

_‘Same as it ever does, more or less. So not too bad. Dad’s still in there talking to the doctor.’_

_‘That’s good. I know you were hesitant to go.’_

Tony rolled his eyes. Was it just him or did it seem like Bruce was dodging it even after saying he wanted to talk about it? _‘Speaking of hesitancy, I recall you had something you wanted to talk about. What did your dad say to you?’_

Now Bruce’s response took a little longer to get to him. _‘At first I thought he was threatening to throw me out of the house. Now I’m not so sure.’_

Tony’s eyebrows furrowed. That message posed way more questions than answers. He settled on one and hit send, _‘When did this happen?’_

_‘The night before last.’_

Tony let out a long sigh. _‘And he said what exactly? He’s kicking you out? Or he... isn’t?’_ It kind of had to be one or the other.

The initial reply came quick. _‘It wasn’t like that.’_ The explanation in the following text took a little longer. _‘He said if I was unhappy living at home, arrangements could be made. I thought he was just being patronizing.’_

Tony rolled his eyes, _‘No offense, but that wouldn’t surprise me at all.’_

He didn’t get anything back for quite awhile, and the fact that his dad was still in there talking to the doctor didn’t help set Tony at ease. He shifted in his seat and once again became aware of the monitor strapped to his chest. Jeez, it was almost creepy to know that thing was listening to his pulse _right now_. He felt a flutter in his chest, drawing his breath somewhat short; it was probably best to try and keep from thinking about it. As he tapped out his anxiousness on his thigh, his phone finally vibrated again.

_‘I’ll be waiting. XOXO’_ was what the pop-up notification said. He raised an eyebrow in question, until it dawned on him that it was from Pepper, not Bruce, and _then_ he realized what she was likely waiting for.

“Shit...” he hissed. He still hadn’t broken things off with Pep yet. Of course, he hadn’t exactly had a plethora of opportunities to do so since the party. As he considered how to respond to her text properly, if at all, his phone vibrated again.

_‘Yeah. I suppose you’re right. Mom’s staying in today and my dad comes home from work at the regular time. I don’t think there’s going to be a window for you to ‘stop by’.’_

Tony smirked briefly as he processed that information, _‘Damn. :( Well I guess you can just call me when they go to bed again.’_

_‘Yeah. I will.’_

Tony was insanely glad his conspiratorial grin didn’t translate through text, _‘Promise? *pout*’_

_‘Tony, that doesn’t work the same as it does in person.’_

_‘You’re a terrible liar, big guy.’_

_‘I’ll call, okay? I promise.’_

Howard emerged shortly after he’d finished reading that message. “Enough phonesturbating, boy. Rub it out quick and get your coat,” he ordered without an iota of shame, pointedly ignoring the glare of a soccer mom-type who’d overheard a few seats away from Tony.

_‘Great. I love you.’_ Tony finished quickly and put his phone away, “Coming.”

Howard’s eyebrows shot up, “Please tell me that pun wasn’t intended.”

Tony glanced back over his shoulder briefly at Soccer Mom, who looked about ready to say something, and smiled sweetly, “Nope; happy accident. Let’s go.”

\--

Tony had had an inkling that something was weighing heavily on his dad’s mind back in the lobby of the doctor’s office, and the moment the two of them had gotten into the car and were alone it became particularly obvious. “Seat belt, boy,” Howard reminded tersely as he turned the ignition. Tony made a ‘hm’ as he drew the harness over his lap-- easy to forget when his ‘stang didn’t have them. He slumped into his seat, throwing one arm over the seatback and propping a foot up on the dashboard, as if by looking listless on the outside he could feel similarly on the inside.

Howard pulled out of the parking lot and headed down the road. There was silence between them, but every so often the man risked what was barely a glance, as if it were painful to look at him for any prolonged amount of time. Ultimately it just made the teen feel like he was some kind of ticking time-bomb counting down towards detonation, as if all the wires connected to him hadn’t already driven that point home. If one of them didn’t say something soon, he was going to lose it.

“Say it,” Tony finally ground out.

“E-excuse me?” Howard stumbled, hands firmly glued to the steering wheel.

The teen pried his gaze away from the passenger window to glare at his old man. “I said: _‘Say it.’_.”

“...say what exactly?”

“Fuck if I know!” Tony gestured his hands above his head, “Whatever it is you’re _not_ saying! If I knew, we wouldn’t be having this discussion!”

Howard shook his head, “This is hardly what I’d consider a ‘discussion’--”

“God dammit, Dad!” Tony kicked the glovebox, the elevated tone of his voice betraying more fear than frustration. Howard pulled his gaze from the road briefly, startled. “ _Please_ , just... say it,” he repeated softly, eyes growing moist.

Howard felt his chest tighten as he regarded his son. Just like so many times before, the boy fought hard to hide his tears, his weakness. God, how long had he left his boy alone to fend for himself? How long had Tony been crying on the inside without giving him his shoulder to cry on? Just because of what he’d chosen to hide?

“I… There’s a few things that you haven’t been told...” Howard let out a heavy sigh and scanned the road ahead for a safe place to pull over. His voice gained momentary firmness as the car coasted to a stop on the shoulder of the road. “I want you to listen, and I want you to try and understand.”

Tony scoffed as if he were trying to dismiss the serious turn in mood that the conversation had taken. Premonition gripped his chest, but he swallowed and gave the slightest of nods.

Howard cut the ignition and leaned back into the seat as he contemplated how to tell his son. _‘Just screw the preamble and get it over with... quick and easy... like ripping off a band-aid...’_ He steeled himself. “Your mother... she didn’t pass because of her condition… not directly.”

“What? What are you--” Tony started, but Howard held up his hand in a gesture of silence.

“Please,” the man pleaded, only going on once it was obvious his son was going to let him continue, “The night she passed, it was because they attempted to implant a device to stabilize and eliminate the erratic fluctuations of her heart.”

“You mean, like a pacemaker?” Tony ventured meekly, still trying to grasp what he was being told.

Howard shook his head, “Much more complex than that. A pacemaker is designed to regulate Bradycardia, in which the heart beats too slow. You and your mother’s shared condition, however, is a rare form of Tachycardia.”

“...It beats too fast,” Tony finished for him in subdued realization.

The man gave a sad nod. “The ARC was designed to suppress extraneous electrical impulses. As far back as two years before then, it wasn’t much more than a concept sketched out on a paper napkin. But as soon as I realized it might be a viable option, I invested everything I could spare into its development, and when Maria... your mother-- she...” he halted, inhaling deeply through his nose, “Well, we just couldn’t wait any longer. We had to try it. She was weak... If only she hadn’t lost so much blood...” His hands gripped the steering wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He emptied his lungs shakily, “I still... I still want to believe it would’ve worked for her.”

They sat silent for what felt like minutes, Tony unsure of exactly what to say. Eventually he settled on a single “Why?”

“Tony...” Howard spoke painfully.

“ _Why_ didn’t you tell me before??” Tony demanded.

Howard swallowed. “In case I was wrong.” His voice was soft and low, “You were six when it happened; how could I explain to you and have you understand? Two years later you suffered your very first attack. If I’d told you the surgery existed,” his words began to rush together, “that there was something that _could_ cure your condition, and you wanted to…” His head bowed. “I couldn’t stand the thought. It was hard enough to know I was responsible for your mother’s death.”

Tony would have appreciated the irony a bit more if the situation wasn’t so tense, “You weren’t responsible, Dad. There wasn’t any other option. Mom would’ve died naturally if you hadn’t tried it… At le-ast,” his voice hiccuped, “at least you _tried_.”

Howard didn’t respond directly. He simply picked up where he left off, “I want you to live as much of your life as possible; not gamble it away on a surgery that might end up killing you. You’ve had your episodes here and there, but overall, you seem to be getting stronger each year. That first diagnosis, they told me you were expected to live into adulthood... and... here we are.” The man gave him a meaningful look.

Tony drew his fingers along the center of his chest. “So when Dr. Erskine was talking about responsibility...” he led in, trailing off.

Howard nodded, “It’s your life, and when you’re a legal adult, it will be your decision. I won’t be able to stop you from having the operation, should you choose to have it.” The words looked like they were pure torture for him to speak.

Tony felt an almost tangible weight press down on him... the idea that not long from now, he might be _forced_ to make that decision himself, should his condition considerably worsen. Quite suddenly the overwhelming urge to apologize came over him. For the hate he’d felt for his father, for his ignorance to the burden he carried daily, for all the years they’d both wasted on grief and misunderstanding.

Howard was in an equal state. He wanted to apologize for his selfishness, for his compulsion to preserve what was left of his family by staying uninvolved, for fear of breaking whatever he touched. For not having the strength to push through his fears without his wife, to know his son needed him and that he had responded by cowering in a corner.

They sat in silence, the air thick with unspoken repentance. They didn’t need to speak, however, because for once, they’d lowered their walls enough for each other to simply _feel_. Howard reached an arm out to pull his son closer; Tony hugged him back. If tears were shed by either Stark, neither bothered to comment on it, allowing one another their respective prides.

When Tony finally did speak, his voice was low and even. “I don’t want to die.” His father looked to him. “That being said,” Tony continued, hoarse, but determined, “I don’t plan on dying anytime soon. I won’t have the surgery unless I absolutely have to.”

Howard beamed with teary gratitude. He gave his son a pretend sock on the jaw. “Atta boy. I _knew_ the hospital didn’t send us home with the wrong kid.”

\--

He couldn’t help but wince as he pulled up to the curb in front of Pepper’s parents’ house.

Tony exited the ‘stang and shut the door, walking around the front of his car to jog up the driveway. Pepper had said she’d be waiting; thanks to the little heart-to-heart (no pun intended) with his dad, he’d certainly kept her doing that. He might have been worried about her being mad for taking so long to get his ass over to her place, but then again, if she was angry with him, that just might make this whole breaking-up thing a Hell of a lot easier...

He depressed the doorbell and stuffed his hands in his pockets, anxiously shifting his weight from foot to foot as he waited. The Potts’ place was pretty nice-- no, it wasn’t a mansion like _his_ place was, but it was still big and located in the best part of town next to the community golf course. Since both of Pep’s parents were full-time lawyers, they had the cash. Tony chuckled briefly at the doormat beneath his feet that read: ‘Come back with a search warrant.’

When the latch jiggled, he nearly startled out of his skin. The door opened and Pepper leaned herself against the doorframe. Against his will, Tony took stock of what little she was wearing-- it started with tall silver heels that criss-crossed over the toes, continuing with vertically banded silver stockings that stopped a few inches above the knee to accentuate a considerable amount of bare thigh until the loose-fitting white dress shirt draped over them-- wait, was that _his_ dress shirt?? One of Tony’s eyebrows quirked. When the Hell had she gone scrounging through his closet to run off with that? The girl only had it buttoned half-way up, the top three closures left open to allow the silver push-up bra she was wearing to show. Really, the only question that the outfit brought to mind was whether or not she was wearing any panties underneath...

“About time,” Pepper said.

“Hey Pep,” he began lamely. Great, he was off to a horrible start already. He tried his best to continue strong, “Listen, I’ve been meaning to see you--”

Her green eyes flickered. “And do you like what you see...?” she inquired, lifting her arms to press more sensually into the doorframe.

“I... uh,” Tony paused, willing his eyes not to travel below her collarbone for a _second_ time, “That’s not… I just... I was just stopping by to--” He let out a hiss as freshly manicured fingers toyed with the hem of his sweatshirt, threatening to slip under (which made him uncomfortable in a whole nother way). He caught her wrists before she could go any further. “Yes, you look amazing, but I wanted to--”

Pepper directed her ex’s hands to the back of her thighs instead. “You wanted to... what?” she asked with a fake curiosity, tipping her head as she brought their mouths close.

Tony’s eyes widened in alarm as his hands acted of their own accord, taking a light grope. Nope, no panties. He shook his head fiercely and took a step back, putting some necessary distance between the two of them, “Whoa, listen, Pep... I _really_ don’t think this is a good idea.”

The girl’s lip pouted out. “You don’t think what’s a good idea?”

“Pep, I really can’t,” he ground out. “We need to talk. Preferably somewhere other than the porch, though.”

“Oh...” the redhead looked down at her feet, shifting on them. “Okay, come on in,” she pulled the door further open and stood aside. Tony simply nodded and followed, closing the door behind him. “Anywhere’s fine,” she continued, gesturing limply at the living room, “my parents aren’t coming home ‘til late.” Thus why she’d thought tonight would be opportune to have a little fun, but apparently _that_ wasn’t happening. “I suppose I should get dressed...” she shrugged gloomily.

“Wait!” he called after her. He didn’t know why he couldn’t wait until she came back to tell her, but his conscience was screaming at him to finish it quickly. “I, uh... I haven’t even sat down yet,” he added uselessly. God, could he really do this to her? She already looked crushed and he hadn’t even said it yet. Sighing, he pulled his hoodie off, the warmth of the room paired with the feeling of apprehension in his gut both doing their part to increase his discomfort. Static snapped as he tugged it upward; he caught the hem of his shirt rising with it just a bit too late to keep her from seeing.

Pepper let out a gasp.

_‘Shit.’_

“Oh my God! Tony!!” She rushed back up to him, one hand over her mouth, the other reaching out to hover over the device she had just glimpsed, afraid to touch it, but desperately concerned. “What-- are you... are you okay??” she breathed out in a high-pitch, “What happened?? What _is_ that??”

“Pep, I’m--” Tony knew what he was doing, and he knew he was a coward for doing it, but if it meant he didn’t have to make her cry right now, then dammit he’d take the dishonorable discharge. He and Bruce could come back some other day and break the news to her, together. “It’s a Holter monitor,” he explained, gesturing an arm with limp emphasis, “It’s just collecting data for the doctor to analyze later. Yeah, I’m alright. I just... had a little bit of a cardiac episode.” 

“When did this happen?? Oh my God. I thought you were doing better...” Her eyes began to water as she pressed her hands to the flat of her chest. She was shocked, and worse, fearful for the boy standing in front of her.

Tony swallowed, answering guiltily, “Uh... Tuesday...”

Now the concern changed into admonishment. “ _Two_ days ago?? And you didn’t tell me?!”

“I-I was...” _‘Not doing anything.’_ his mind finished for him. He searched for an excuse and drew a complete blank. He had absolutely no reason not to have told Pepper about this previously, other than the fact that she just hadn’t been on his mind the past few days. And that probably wasn’t the greatest answer to give her. “Uh... my bad?” he chuckled nervously.

Pepper gave a huff, folding her arms for a brief moment. Gradually she dropped them back down to her sides, fingernails fussing with the cuffs of her ex’s stolen dress shirt. “...I guess you were just worried how I might react...” she surmised, voice soft once more.

“Well, yeah of course. I mean... I know you worry about me. And I don’t like making you worry...” It was easy enough to bullshit his way through this, considering that a lot of the sentiment was true. So long as he left her to draw her own conclusions, it wasn’t technically lying at all.

“Oh, Tony...” Pepper whispered as she embraced him. She set her chin on his shoulder and closed her eyes, sifting her fingers empathetically through his hair. “It was all that worrying I used to do that pushed us apart before...” she said. She was remorseful about that, knowing she’d ruined what otherwise might have been a good relationship. Saying as much though made her yet again question her own motives about her ex.

“Pep, don’t...” Tony started, but didn’t continue. She knew what he would have said. “It’s okay. I’m fine, Pep, I promise...” he reassured her, telling himself he would have been getting these tears either way. It still didn’t make him feel any better about what he was doing. “It’s just, the doctor told me to take it easy for now.”

The girl gave a little sniff as she withdrew, nodding understandingly. “Then that’s what we’ll do.” She took his chin and connected their mouths gently.

This wasn’t working. This wasn’t working at all. The worst part was knowing that he could stop all of this dead in its tracks by just telling the truth. He and Bruce were... well, they were... what were they, exactly? Monogamous, right? That’s what Tony’d proposed, and what Bruce had agreed to. And they loved each other. They’d both said that too. So, he and Bruce were dating now. Yeah, that conclusion kind of made sense. It also meant he was committing a very serious offense here by letting Pepper have her way with his face, but he couldn’t stand the thought of seeing the girl he used to have feelings for shatter into pieces in front of him. He just didn’t have the delicacy to deliver this particular kind of truth on his own.

In the meantime she was still kissing him. Well damn. It seemed like no matter what, he wasn’t going to leave this house without hating himself. He had to think. What the Hell could he do to get out of this? He opened his eyes and pushed her away gently, trying to think of what Bruce would say. “I... I’m sorry.” He stalked over to the nearest seat and plopped down, “I... it’s not you. None of this is your fault. I just... I’ve got a lot on my mind right now.” In his defense, it wasn’t a lie. He was simply more used to blocking people out with a joke and a smile than the truth.

Pepper watched him a bit sadly, not because she wasn’t getting what she wanted out of Tony, but because she could tell how shaken this recent ‘attack’ had made him. Ordinarily it was his blatant disregard for his condition that both worried and infuriated her. But the Tony here and now, sitting on her couch, wasn’t the reckless boy she remembered. He sat silently staring off at some point in the distance. Something told her that there had been something different about this hospital visit from all the rest...

As worried as she was, Pepper didn’t attempt to pry; if she was going to do right by this boy this time she had to be sensitive to his feelings, to understand he needed space, but also support. She toed off her high-heels to curl up beside him on the couch, allowing her head to rest in the crook of his shoulder. “Okay,” she said consolingly. She placed a hand over one of his, lightly squeezing. “But you know I’m here for you, right...?”

Tony nodded solemnly, the minor relief he felt in maintaining his loyalty to Bruce not really doing much for the overwhelming guilt that he felt for this entire situation. The only reason the three of them were in this position at all is because he’d been too afraid to confess to Bruce in the first place. And now that he had-- more or less-- he knew that everything would have turned out fine and Pepper would have never gotten involved. Not a lot of good the hindsight was doing him though. He gave her hand a light squeeze back, “Thanks for, you know, understanding.”

“Of course,” Pepper responded, managing a small smile. Looking into his eyes made her want to hold him close. “I guess I really should go get dressed now, shouldn’t I? Do you want to sit and watch a movie or something?” the redhead offered, inclining her head at the flatscreen on the wall in front of them. It was a low-energy activity; they could just cuddle and it would help the boy keep his mind off the thing that was bothering him.

Tony nodded, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

The girl smiled. “You can pick one off the shelf,” she said as she stood. Pepper picked her heels up from the floor and began to unbutton the dress shirt as she headed towards her room on the second floor, “Oh, did you want your shirt back now or some other time?”

“No rush, I guess,” Tony shrugged.

Pepper disappeared up the stairs. As Tony looked over what DVD titles the Potts’ had, he felt his cell vibrate. Bruce again. _‘How the Hell do you work this fucking Kindle? I swear I’ve read all the books in this goddamn house three times over.’_

Tony gave a soft snort of amusement. _‘Even Fifty Shades of Chicken? :o’_ he keyed back, grinning at his own joke.

The big guy must have been less amused. _‘Nevermind. I’ll figure it out myself.’_ Yeesh, someone obviously couldn’t take a joke. Had something else made Bruce crabby _already?_ Tony gave a sigh. The stairs gave a creak, signalling that Pepper was on her way back down. He texted a quick apology and nabbed a DVD off the shelf. He didn’t care to read the title before popping it into the DVD player, but Jason Statham was on the cover, so it was likely full of enough gunfights and explosions to keep him entertained without making him think too much.

“Got one picked out?” Pepper sing-songed as she plopped into the sofa and drew her legs up. She took note of the menu screen. “The Italian Job, huh? Your choice in movies hasn’t changed,” she teased her ex as she motioned him to join her. Thank goodness, she’d chosen to wear her hoodie; that would be one less pair of things for him to worry about, so to speak.

Tony took a seat next to her on the couch, sitting back and making himself comfortable, or as comfortable as he could be, rather. He hadn’t noticed her perfume when they’d been out on the porch. He cleared his throat and gestured to the television with the DVD remote as he queued playback, “Yeah. That okay?”

The cheerleader hummed. She might have been hoping for something a little less... action/adventure-y, but right now she was content to know Tony was enjoying himself. “Absolutely,” Pepper responded, pecking him on the cheek. “And if you want me to go to the kitchen and whip up a snack for us, just let me know,” she added with a wink.

Tony sighed and relaxed deeper into the cushions. This was okay. He had this under control. As long as they weren’t fornicating. Wait... ‘fornicating’? Had he seriously just used that word in his head? God, now he was _thinking_ like Bruce.

_‘And speaking of... The Hell was up with him?’_ he thought, _‘I should check back before--’_ Pepper all but plastered herself to his side, making any and all attempts to access his phone impossible. He thought about saying something, but decided to just go with it. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be _too_ bad, and he’d be seeing the big guy later tonight.

His cheshire grin returned.


	41. Chapter 41

Upon the conclusion of his text conversation with Tony that morning, Bruce found he had little interest in leaving his room for anything more than occasionally using the bathroom. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking earlier, supposing that his father in any way wanted him to continue to live with them. A whole lifetime of mistreatment was testament enough to that. Was he going to trick himself into believing any differently just because his _mother_ told him otherwise?

The whole thing just made him unreasonably angry.

His mood was notably not improved when his father arrived home from work and his mother called him out to join them for dinner. He set the Kindle to its sleep screen and exited.

If he could have, he would have asked if he could take his meal back to his room, but he knew better than to try and buck the house rules established by his parents. He sat, they said grace, and food was doled out.

“How was work today?” Rebecca asked her husband with an interested smile.

“Mm... merely tolerable,” the man remarked after swallowing and dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “As usual, little was accomplished in my absence. You would think it is acceptable to slack when your superior is not around to see it; I tell you, Rebecca, it’s a sad lack of work ethic you see in people these days...”

Brian went on but Bruce wasn’t listening, poking at his au gratin potatoes with his fork. Husband and wife conversed while he wondered what the point of his presence at the dinner table truly was. They could have just as easily been enjoying this discussion without him there.

“Bruce.” The utterance of his name pierced his brooding. “Would you pass the salt?”

A scoff nearly made it past his lips. He grabbed the shaker and set it closer to his father without a word.

“Bruce, darling, aren’t you hungry?” Rebecca noticed, “You’ve hardly touched your food.”

Brian gave him a harsh look. “Your mother put considerable effort into this meal, young man. I suggest you eat it.”

Now it just felt like they were ganging up on him. The boy averted his gaze to the tabletop sullenly and took a large bite. He didn’t stop until he’d completely cleaned his plate, and once he had, he stood and took his dishes to the sink, not bothering to vocally excuse himself. He just wanted to get back to his room so his parents could have their time together the way they so obviously _wanted_ to.

“Bruce?” his mother caught him just before he could manage to escape.

He shut his eyes with a sigh. “Yeah?” he turned back around to face her.

“Why don’t you grab a book and come read out in the front room with your father and I?”

Logically, the offer should have put him in better spirits, that she was including him in ‘family time’. But instead it just made him feel more put upon. Like he had no choice. That if he said no then it was _his_ fault instead of theirs that he was being ignored. He gave the woman a stiff nod and resumed his path to his bedroom.

He grabbed his Kindle and returned to the living room, taking a seat on the couch. He navigated the menu to choose ‘Childhood’s End’ by Arthur C. Clarke, purely for the irony.

He’d settled into the first few pages by the time his parents finished their own meals and came to join him. Brian placed himself in his armchair, while Rebecca sat beside her son near her reading lamp. “Oh, using Tony’s gift?” she smiled. Bruce dipped his chin in the minutest nod of confirmation.

Brian cleared his throat as he removed the bookmark from his own selection. “Bruce, fetch my decanter for me.”

His blood simmered, to the point where he could feel the heat tingling in his very fingertips. What was he, a goddamn house servant for the man? Do ‘this’, do ‘that’. “Get it yourself...” he mumbled, eyes fixedly on the E-ink text of his Kindle.

There was an incredulous pause. “What did you just say to me...?” Brian’s voice wavered with rising anger.

“I said: ‘Get it yourself.’,” Bruce repeated with more clarity, flipping a page with a click of his thumb as nonchalantly as possible. He realized in some far-off part of his brain that this was a stupid thing to do, a trivial battle to pick, but he was already in trouble, wasn’t he? What more could really be done to punish him? Besides throwing him out of the house, which hey, might be becoming a more and more appealing solution to his father. Maybe his old man would finally come out and say it, right there in front of his mom. Then she’d finally see. She’d finally understand how his father really felt about him.

What Bruce didn’t expect was his mother to respond first.

“David Bruce Banner,” the woman spoke with distinct and unequivocal crossness, “Fetch your father’s decanter.”

His indifferent attitude shattered. Her words felt like a stab in the back. How could she take his side?? How could she betray him like this?? With a whimper and a trembling lip he rushed from the room. He took the stairs to the study two at a time, grabbed the wretched bottle of whiskey off the desk and brought it back down, placing it on the end table beside his father. “I’m going back to my room,” he said. _‘If there’s anything_ else _you want, you’re just going to have to come get me.’_ With one last forlorn glance at his mother, he hurried back to his room, resolved to stay there until his parents turned in.

\--

Five hours.

It had been five hours since he stormed out of the living room, and that five hours had been spent reading, moping, reading, and moping some more.

Bruce punched his already flattened pillow. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t get a handle on this. He was used to his dad being angry at him, that he could take. Occasionally his mother would scold him, but tonight... He gripped his head, her use of his name echoing through it. Worse yet, he was nicotine-fitting, and he knew it. He had a slight headache and his fingers were jittering with anxiety; he stuffed them under his armpits in attempt to get them to stop.

Footsteps sounded down the hall. The teenager sat bolt upright, listening. It was both of them. They were finally going to bed. Bruce waited for his mother to knock on his bedroom door.

It didn’t come. The master bedroom door squeaked open, then shut and there was quiet.

He felt his eyes tear up. She wasn’t going to say goodnight to him...? But she... she _always_ said goodnight to him... A small sob escaped him and he plunged his face down into his pillow to cry harder.

Eventually he got ahold of himself and drew back up to take a few steadying breaths. He plucked the glasses from his face and tasked himself to cleaning the dried saline spots off the lenses before perching them back on his nose. He then grabbed his iPod and closed himself in his closet. “JARVIS, call Tony.”

“Post-haste, sir.” The device dialed out. A moment later JARVIS offered a cordial update and inquiry, “Sir, he’s chosen to deny video feed. Is audio-only acceptable?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Bruce shrugged carelessly (though he recognized shortly after doing it that shrugging when speaking to an iPod was completely unnecessary).

Tony’s voice broke the silence, “Hey... Sorry I can’t turn on video-- no good place to prop up the phone.”

The teen gave a soft sigh. “It’s okay.” He hugged the electronic a little closer. “...Just hearing the sound of your voice i-is nice enough...”

“You too,” there was a brief pause, “Hey, you alright?”

Bruce laughed self-depreciatingly and willed his eyes not to water again. “I... I’ve been better...” he admitted to his friend.

“Hmm...” Tony seemed to be weighing his response, “So, you’ve read To Kill A Mockingbird, right?”

Bruce’s lip quirked and he reached up to readjust his glasses. “I was absent from school that week. Never quite patched the gap in the curriculum.”

The teen gave a snort, “Wow, really? Well fuck the Boo Radley joke then.” There was another short pause, and Bruce could almost envision Tony shaking his head, “Just check your mailbox.”

A curious elation rushed through him. He wet his lips. “You left me something?” he asked, starting to get up.

“My lips are sealed. You’ll just have to go and check.”

Bruce bit the inside of his mouth. “Alright, but keep quiet, alright? My parents are just in the other room,” he warned as he exited his closet.

“I’ll mute my mic. No worries.”

With that promise, Bruce stole out of his bedroom, being sure to avoid the squeaky floorboard in the hall. He didn’t bother with shoes as he tip-toed outside and down to the curb where the mailbox was. His heart was thumping with slight excitement as he grabbed the handle and pulled the box open. His eyes both widened.

Cigarettes.

Bruce thrust his hand inside, yanking them out. “God, have I ever told you how wonderful you are...? You’re a miracle-worker _and_ a mind-reader,” Bruce told the iPod, knowing Tony was listening as already he was pulling the strip on the shrink wrap to get at the fresh pack. He didn’t even care he’d be breaking his New Year’s resolution; the last couple days had been _Hell_. He plucked one out and perched it in his mouth. Now to go inside and grab a match... He was about to close the mailbox when he realized something else had been left for him. He removed it with less fervency and chuckled when he recognized it. It was that Chobits manga his friend had picked out from the Barnes and Noble. His pleas of having nothing to read had also been answered, it seemed.

“I’m well aware of how awesome I am,” Tony replied in a hushed tone, presumably having unmuted his mic once he was sure Bruce was outside, “You, however, don’t know the half of it.”

Bruce chuckled again, shaking his head at his friend’s typical inability to accept a compliment. “Well thank you,” he said as he made his way back up the driveway.

“You can thank me in person, next time you see me,” Tony’s voice piped in quietly again.

“I’ll be sure to,” Bruce hummed. “I’m going to get a light; go silent again, alright?”

“Got’cha,” the response came back and Bruce re-entered the house, going to the kitchen to scrounge the drawers for matches. Something clunked in the direction of the hall.

_‘Shit.’_ In a rush, he jammed the cigarette back in the pack and quickly swivelled to close the drawer and hide his acquisitions behind his back; almost in an after-thought, he tapped and held the screen of his iPod to terminate the call. _‘Quick, think up a lie Tony would make for being up out of bed.’_ he urged himself.

However the seconds ticked by and neither of his parents emerged. Relaxing somewhat, he poked his head halfway down the hall, listening for any additional noises. A bed squeaked, but he realized with confusion the sound hadn’t come from the master bedroom.

It couldn’t actually be...

Bruce all but ran back into his room and drew in a breath at the boy lying in his bed.

“You’re welcome,” Tony said; his volume was subdued but his canary-eating grin was anything but.

Bruce shut his bedroom door, put down his things and stalked over. He looked angry. Like, ready-to-hit-him angry. Tony let out a noise of slight protest as he was grabbed suddenly by the shirt and yanked upright. Bruce growled, fists audibly tightening in the cotton. “Big gu--” Tony started, but failed to get any further, because within that instant Bruce’s mouth had found his, crushing roughly against it.

Tony melted into the kiss, letting his friend have his way with his lips a good while before pulling back to ask, “You mad at me? I can’t tell.”

The big guy gave a snort, closing the distance to press their foreheads together. His palm travelled down and cupped his balls a little more roughly than Tony had been expecting (assuming he’d been expecting to have the family jewels grabbed at all… which he had not). “I need you _right now_ ,” Bruce asserted. Tony wasn’t sure if the other teen was disregarding the question or if that was the answer.

He chuckled, pushing the big guy back with open palms until he had enough room to sit up, which was about as easy as getting a rodeo bull to stop bucking its rider. “Not here...” he reasoned, his breath ghosting the other’s lips.

It took awhile to pervade Bruce’s thoughts enough to elicit a response. “Mm... Not here,” he agreed, glancing back at the window that his friend must have come in through while he was in the kitchen. He grabbed Tony by the shirt again and pulled him along, opening the window.

“You’re pretty quick on the uptake,” Tony commented coyly, flattening out the wrinkles in his tee once the big guy had let go. “I figured we could take a little drive,” he hooked his thumb, “assuming you’re okay with a change of scenery, I mean.”

“You’re kidding, right? I feel like the protagonist in The Yellow Wallpaper,” Bruce grumbled. He didn’t even think twice about the fact that if his parents were to come check on him, they wouldn’t find him there. Odds were they wouldn’t anyway, and he was more than willing to risk it. He stepped into his Sperrys and grabbed his smokes and a jacket. “Let’s go.”

“So you’ve read that, but _not_ To Kill A Mockingbird? Whatever. Yeah, let’s go; I’m parked around the corner,” Tony replied, just a touch smug at the way things were going.

It figured. If he’d seen the ‘stang on his way out to the mailbox, he would’ve known Tony was here. “Stop being brilliant,” Bruce mumbled, thrusting his jaw against his friend’s once more before climbing out the window.

Tony grinned, following hot on his heels through the yard (and likely accidentally trampling some of Mrs. B’s flowers in the process, which he maybe felt a tiny bit guilty about). They ran to the next court and climbed into the mustang.

“We’re not going far, right?” Bruce asked the other teen; his voice was husky, his eyes locked with Tony’s. “Because I’m not kidding when I say I need you to fuck me. And I really, really don’t want you to be gentle.”

“No objections here,” Tony replied with a veneered smirk; in the back of his mind he wondered if this was a similar situation to the last time Bruce had specifically requested he do the topping. Probably best not to breach the subject yet. Not like Bruce would do anything but dodge the question and get angry anyways. Tony knew the drill by now. And it wasn’t like he was in a hurry to spoil the mood either. He fired up the engine. “And don’t worry, not far.”

Bruce slid up against his side, taking to nibbling the other boy’s ear. “Good.”

For all of five seconds, Tony forgot how to drive stick. Then he threw in the clutch, shifted into first and accelerated off.

\--

It was strange, visiting the school during winter break. It was the closest thing to a ghost town that Tony had really seen-- a place he always thought of as crowded and hectic, the sounds of thousands of collective voices bouncing off the walls and carrying outward into the parking lot. Like this, it was just dead. Without the students, it was more of a husk than anything else. Christ, he needed to quit being so morbid.

“I hope this is acceptable,” Tony said as he pulled into one of the reserved administration spaces. He tilted his head slightly as he read the sign, “‘Reserved for Principal Fury.’ Who in the Hell...?” He didn’t recognize the name. “What happened to the other g--”

Bruce obviously wasn’t much in a chit-chatting mood, as he grabbed his friend by the shoulders and toppled them backwards onto the seat, pulling his friend down to rest between his legs.

“I’ll google it later,” Tony decided with a brief shrug and he leaned down to take his friend roughly by the mouth. Bruce’s fingers slid into his hair, taking fistfuls as he canted upward against him. Tony smiled into Bruce’s lips, muttering a “ _Much_ later,” before continuing the kiss where he’d left off; he kept one hand on the upholstery to prop himself up, but the other roamed down to the big guy’s waist, inching at the material there.

Bruce’s fingers abandoned the other’s hair momentarily to untie the drawstring of his pajama pants. “Should make things easier...” he mumbled, re-engaging their mouths and adding tongue.

“Mmhmm...” Tony hummed his reply, dipping his hand beneath the other teen’s waistband to splay his fingers across his groin, earning a hearty groan from the big guy. The sound made his hairs stand on end, along with another part of his anatomy. Somehow, still, it felt like he was forgetting something... Tony’s eyes shot open with the realization. He simultaneously yanked away from the kiss and removed his hand from the other’s pants. “Ah, big guy, I have to--” Bruce thrust back against his pelvis again, “Mmm, ahh-- H-hey, hold on a sec--”

“What?” the other asked, drawing his palm down the billionaire’s sternum.

Tony shivered, derailed. “Fuck, that’s nice… What was I even saying?”

Bruce’s hand paused, his brow twisting with confusion at the hard object beneath the cotton. He pat down his friend’s front and then lifted the shirt by the bottom hem to confirm visually, pushing his glasses up. “You’re wearing a Holter monitor?” he inquired, eyeballing the device and the spider-webbing wires of the five electrodes stuck to his friend’s torso.

Tony averted his gaze reflexively, “Uh, yeah... I mean... It’s okay; we can still-- I just have to--” The big guy hummed through his stammering, briefly squinting at the device in examination. He found the button and pressed it with his thumb, leaving Tony in a baffled silence. “...Did you study these in JC or something?”

“Ah...” Bruce rubbed the back of his neck, knowing how geeky it would sound, “Medical journals sometimes make good reading...” He couldn’t help that it was an interesting subject. And relevant.

“My God...” Tony shook his head, trying to fight back his smile.

Bruce tilted his head, issuing the inevitable, “What?”

“Nothing,” Tony pretended to dismiss before continuing, “It’s just, you’re like the definition of ‘smart is sexy’.”

Bruce chuckled, allowing his hands to drift up the exposed skin. He followed one of the wires suction-cupped to his friend’s body with two fingers and a thumb, purposefully pulling on it-- not enough to remove it, but enough to lightly tug the skin and make Tony hiss. “Yeah well, we’re going to be providing your doctor with some interesting data to analyze,” Bruce concluded.

Tony made the decision to pull the shirt the rest of the way over his head to toss it into the backseat. With anyone else it would have made things awkward to be wearing medical equipment while getting it on, but only Bruce would make it an integral part of the experience. “You have the nerdiest kinks,” Tony breathed before diving back upon the other’s lips, pawing for the hem of his shirt.

Bruce hummed, letting Tony pull the tee off of him, worming each of his arms out of it in his reclined state. He then wad it up to cast it into the backseat with Tony’s shirt before returning to caressing the boy’s sides. He tilted his head, making out with him hungrily. “God, it feels so good to get to touch you again... to have you touching _me_ … I’ve missed this so much...”

Tony swallowed self-consciously as Bruce’s back arched. He gave an affirmative grunt to the commentary, moving his hands across the expanse of his partner’s chest. If he allowed himself to talk about the myriad of things on his mind, things would assuredly come to a grinding halt, especially if he started up on some of the subjects that his visit with Pepper had generated. Sex was comfortable, familiar, and honestly he’d missed it as much as Bruce had. It was worrisome enough that they’d only been apart less than a handful of days and they’d still missed the intimacy this much; as selfish as it sounded, he really didn’t want to ruin it with words and feelings. He buried his face in the crook of Bruce’s neck and did his best to shut his brain off, nipping at the jugular, but taking care not to leave an incriminating mark. It wasn’t like he didn’t want this anyway.

Bruce however, obviously hadn’t decided to censor himself. He mumbled and moaned at every one of Tony’s touches and bites, and his fists kept tightening and untightening in his hair. “Come on... yeah... show me you want me...” he breathed into his friend’s ear.

Tony shivered, wavering long enough to utter a, “You already know I do,” into Bruce’s ear much the same way the other teen had just done. This was starting to feel more and more like what had happened after the incident in the study. Tony really needed to ask him if something happened at home before he dropped him off, but... but not right now.

“Then come on...” Bruce all but growled back, his hand groping for the glove compartment near his head. He managed to pull it open. A few moments later, Tony found himself being pushed upright and a condom being slapped into his open palm. Bruce’s eyes bored into his, that barely tint of green edging his irises, “Prove it.”

He wasn’t sure if it was the rush that came with knowing security could tap on their window any second, or the fact that Tony Stark was not one to back down from a dare, but he felt adrenaline surge through his veins and all he could think of was doing exactly that. He needed more room than he had now to do it though. He pushed Bruce back into the middle of the bench seat and fumbled for the mechanism to lean it back. The seat fell out beneath them, causing his partner to all but tumble backwards. Tony grasped the foil packet in his teeth for the time being, using both hands to rid Bruce of his pajama pants and boxers as a unit. After a brief shuffling of his feet in the interior of the car, Tony huffed through his nose, addressing Bruce through foil and clenched teeth, “We gotta switch; you need to be on top.”

Bruce sucked on a tooth. “Not enough leg room?” he guessed.

Tony scratched his head, “Yeah, the only way I can see that working is if you’re on your knees and...” Well, Tony knew the other boy preferred eye contact as much as he did.

Bruce hm’d and vacated the center seat so Tony could take it. As he got into his friend’s lap, he noticed how little clearance he had between the top of his head and the cloth roof.

Tony noticed his friend’s conundrum as he encased his erection in latex. “We could put the top down, but...” he trailed off.

“I’ll be fine,” Bruce assured, handing off the tube of lubricant next. He traced his fingers around the electrodes on his friend’s chest absently, trying not to be too impatient. Even now, here alone with Tony, he was still feeling the rejection from his parents and the pain that came with it. He needed affirmation that he wasn’t as unloved as he felt. And that was just what the other boy was going to give him.

“Okay then,” Tony sighed, squeezing out a final glob of the clear substance onto two fingers. “I’m just gonna…” he trailed off; he reached past the other teen’s balls to circle his digits around the pucker, encouraging it to loosen, but Bruce grabbed his arm before he could get far. Tony gave him a questioning look.

“I’ll be fine,” Bruce repeated. Tony nibbled at the inside of his mouth, unconvinced, but nodded.

The leather squeaked as the teen scooched his knees a little wider, orienting his hips until he felt the tip press against the right place. He took a deep breath and let it out, easing down and wriggling to try to get Tony past the initial tightness. Bruce winced at the resistance his own body was creating, like it didn’t _want_ him, but God there was nothing he wanted more right now. His face flushed in frustration.

“It’s okay, just relax...” Tony assured in a hushed tone, trying to keep control. It wouldn’t be good to lose it right now and thrust up to force his way in, no matter what Bruce had said before they’d driven here.

It wasn’t ‘okay’; nothing was really ‘okay’. That was just another way to say things were screwed up, but not worth talking about. Bruce lifted and lowered again, face scrunching up when it still refused to go.

“Big guy,” Tony tried, eyebrows kneading in mild worry. Usually this was no problem for either of them, not counting their drunken attempt at the party. He gave Bruce’s chest a light push, but didn’t take his hand away, “Look, I wasn’t going to ask, but is something wrong?” Bruce’s chin lowered, shielding his eyes from Tony’s sight, which only served to worry him more. He went on, “And before you answer, I already know there is; I just want to know if we’re gonna talk about it now or later.”

Bruce shook his head harshly. “Later. Pl-ease,” his voice tripped, “I… I n-need this...”

Tony gave a short nod. That’s what he expected, after all. Nonetheless, he took charge of the situation, issuing a stern warning, “Then calm down and _breathe_ until I’m all the way in. You got me?”

Bruce nodded and closed his eyes to focus on that... pulling air into his lungs and letting it back out several times, relaxing his muscles.

Tony took his breaths in time with Bruce, hoping it would serve to help relax his partner, running his palms along the other’s thighs. “Better. Now, you need to tell me to stop if it hurts. I mean it.”

“I will,” Bruce answered.

Tony nodded again. “Okay, I’m gonna push. _Slowly_ ,” he stressed, waiting a beat before lifting his hips. Bruce was noticeably less taut, but he still had to make sure he didn’t get ahead of himself. “You still good?” Tony hissed out.

Bruce responded by pushing back, thighs and jaw clenching, though not to the detriment of progress this time. He gave a little groan as they crested the troublesome section and he finally came flush with his friend’s lap, folding forward to hug his arms around the other teen in relief. “I’m good,” he spoke softly… appreciatively.

Tony let out a breath, “Good.” He gave a tentative movement out and in, little more than a lift of his hips, but it was enough to gauge whether Bruce had adjusted to him.

Bruce gave a shaky, “I’m fine… I’m good.” With that verbal affirmation, Tony willed himself not to worry and and focus on moving his hips. It had been hard enough to hold back this long, and Bruce was far from reckless. He thrust again with a little more impetus, letting instinct take over as he pulled his friend’s form closer.

“God yeah, more like that...” Bruce mumbled, arms squeezing tighter, legs spreading wider.

Tony couldn’t deny him even if he’d wanted to, pulling their bodies near flush reflexively. He recoiled when he felt the unfamiliar press of the Holter monitor on his chest instead of Bruce’s own. As nice as it was that the big guy found it fascinating, Tony didn’t appreciate what it represented, a physical reminder of his mortality, and of things he hadn’t known until this morning. Definitely a mood-killer. And yeah, maybe he’d wanted to talk to Bruce about that tonight, if he was being honest with himself. Jesus, they had so much to talk about, and yet they were having sex instead. Again. Why did they keep doing this to themselves??

Bruce’s fingers fisted in his hair, sharply enough to bring him back to the present moment-- and serving as a bit of an answer to his own question. “Tony... fuck... harder...” the big guy’s voice was wanton, pelvis rolling down onto him; it wasn’t often that Bruce was this... _needy_.

Tony knew he was enabling the both of them, but really, did he have it in him to stop? Well, his hips hadn’t missed a beat since he’d started, so really that wasn’t a question he wanted to ask himself. They’d talk when this was all over, he promised himself. He leaned up to trail kisses along Bruce’s collarbone, now aware of the little moans he’d been letting escape since he’d started. He angled his pelvis, complying with the request, hips hitting hard enough now to make Bruce’s glasses bounce with each thrust. “Better?” Tony grunted out.

“Y-yeah...” the answer was unsteady but definitive. Bruce clamped tighter to him, to cancel out some of the shockwaves each thrust resulted in, keeping his face hidden in the crook of the other teen’s neck as he panted. “You want this... as much as I do... right?” It came out small and uncertain, and he didn’t dare look up into the other boy’s eyes. If Tony were to say he was only doing it because he’d asked for it... Bruce didn’t know how he’d react to that information.

“Don’t be dumb--” Tony started to reply.

He felt the urge to continue with ‘I love you.’, but for some reason, this time he was afraid to; like he was on a minefield, and he was just one misstep away from bringing what they had to explosive ruin. He bucked his hips harder, looping an arm around the back of Bruce’s neck to pull him into a heated kiss before pulling back to answer, “I want this as much as you.” He panted, “And _then_ some.” It was far from a lie, even with more pressing concerns. He whispered on the other’s moist lips, “You feel so fucking good, Bruce…”

The answer drew a long groan from him, hips jolting back. At long last Tony had told him what he needed to feel reassured, and he was able to let go of the plethora of concerns that had been plaguing him and revel in the physical act they were sharing. “Tell me…” he breathed back, glasses fogging with the heated proximity.

A little surge of dominance sparked through him. Tony made a grab for the other teen’s hips, using his arms to pull Bruce down on his length repeatedly. “Anytime you want me to fuck you like this… _anytime_ … you just let me know, Bruce…” he panted thickly. “Cuz I fucking will. As _long_ as you want. As _often_ as you want.”

Bruce groaned out again, considerably louder. His head was tilted back and a healthy flush was creeping up his neck. As his lower half tightened in preparation for release, he opened his eyes and caught Tony’s gaze.

Tony couldn’t take his gaze away from those eyes. Much like New Years Eve, he found himself irrevocably transfixed. Bruce was at his most vulnerable right now, and even though Tony knew as much, it was still startling to see it up close. They were warm brown and vibrant green, and they were sad and scared and _fucking beautiful_ , and it only made Tony love him more. He wanted to know what was causing the pain just below the surface, and he wanted to fix it. He stole another wet kiss, afraid of what he might say if he left his mouth unoccupied.

Bruce let out a sudden cry, hand snapping down to grasp his length, and moments later he was finishing across his friend’s stomach, hips still rocking like they’d forgotten how to fully stop. Tony wasn’t far behind, riding out his orgasm for what felt like forever before melting back into the seat. They eventually disengaged and cleaned up, but it was a while longer before either of them spoke.

“That was… a little unexpected,” Bruce vocalized.

Tony felt his pulse re-quicken. “Yeah.” He scratched the back of his head, a little embarrassed by the dirty-talk in the aftermath. “Uh… sorry about that,” he apologized, then took it back, “I mean… was it okay?”

The big guy hummed, shutting his eyes. “It was exactly what I needed,” he murmured.

A little smirk edged his features for just a moment. “So, you want me to... take you home now?” Tony guessed.

Bruce blinked, then looked away. “No, that’s alright,” he said. He had to get back home eventually, yeah, but he’d just rather be away as long as possible at the present. Bruce leaned over the front seat into the back to appropriate their clothing.

“Hm,” Tony hummed, secretly glad for the answer he’d be given, accepting the jeans and tee as they were placed in his lap and shrugging them on with some difficulty. The rest could wait. He took a breath and exhaled slowly before turning to look at Bruce as the teen finished clothing himself and settled in the seat next to him. “Smoke?”

Bruce looked down at his feet, clasping his hands together and squeezing. “You shouldn’t be asking that.” His friend was supposed to be making sure he didn’t.

Tony quirked an eyebrow, “Just like I shouldn’t have left a pack in your mailbox: an act, might I add, that you praised me for like I’d managed to salvage the Titanic.”

Bruce sighed out and leaned back again to run his fingers through his own hair. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I guess I really let myself get addicted. I feel like I don’t have any restraint.”

“Listen, you don’t have to. I’m just wary about smoking a whole one on my own,” Tony confessed, hand drifting to the monitor on his chest, then realizing what he said he backpedaled, “Shit, I mean-- it’s not like I’m trying to guilt you into it! I just-- Ah, I don’t know...”

That seemed like a whole mish-mash of conflicting stories and emotions. Bruce chose not to pursue it at the moment, answering with a short grunt. He dug the pack out of his coat pocket, turning it over a few times in his palm. “So much for my resolution, huh?” he joked with a wry humor as he pulled one out. “Might wanna put the top down,” he said to his friend as an aside.

“Okay,” Tony sighed and pulled the J-hook lever on the driver’s side, motioning at Bruce to do the same for the passenger side. He turned the keys to the battery position and held the switch until the mechanism had fully shrunk it into the compartment in the back.

Bruce lit up, resting an arm over the door and propping himself in the corner. “Thanks. For... putting up with me,” he mumbled quietly, staring at his reflection in the side view mirror. “I... I know I’m a wreck.”

“You _are_ a wreck today,” Tony replied, “But I’m not just ‘putting up’ with you. I don’t ‘put up’ with people. I either like you or I don’t bother.”

Bruce nodded, but didn’t establish eye-contact.

Tony rolled his eyes in spite of himself. “You don’t believe me.” It came out a little more pissy than he’d intended. He couldn’t help that he was exhausted. What time was it anyway? That doctor’s appointment had been _way_ too early this morning, and worse, he had to go back tomorrow at the _same_ time. But at least then he could have the damn monitor off.

“I believe you,” Bruce explained. “It just doesn’t make me feel a whole lot better.”

The stars weren’t as comforting for Tony either, he noticed as he tilted his gaze up. “Sorry.”

Bruce exhaled a plume of smoke into the winter air. “Me too,” he said, not that he really knew what he was apologizing for. Maybe it just felt right to say it.

“Don’t worry about it. Just start feeling better,” Tony shook his head. In the lull, his thoughts went back to the conversation he’d had with his father. In some ways, it was even more troubling knowing he had a chance. Before today his life was in the hands of fate. Now it was in _his_ hands, and it was the heaviest thing he’d ever had to hold on to. It almost upset him to think that here Bruce was, lying next to him with all his problems weighing him down, problems he hadn’t even shared yet, as if there was nothing he could do to change the direction his life was in. The truth was, Bruce no idea how much control he actually had, all the things he was capable of fixing on his own. Here he was, convinced of his own helplessness, while Tony’s right next to him wishing he could be as helpless as Bruce thought himself to be.

He shook the notion off and spoke, extending a hand towards Bruce to reach for the cigarette, “What’s on your mind?”

Bruce let him have the vice. He had said they’d discuss this ‘later’ and the implication had been after sex. Not exactly the world’s fluffiest pillow-talk. “It’ll sound stupid,” he warned, watching as Tony took a puff. Now that his anger had left him, everything that had _made_ him angry seemed petty and childish in retrospect. When it got right down to it, he recognized it for what it was-- just another case of over-reacting, throwing what was akin to a temper-tantrum.

Tony hummed, inhaling a lungful of smoke and exhaling slowly. “I don’t care,” he shrugged. “I want to know what upset you.”

Bruce pursed his lips, giving a nod, the sentiment bolstering his conviction somewhat. “You remember the photo album we found up in my dad’s study...” he led in.

Tony felt his lips adhere to the cigarette momentarily. So tonight really _had_ been a repeat of the day they’d broken in. “Yeah, of course,” he motioned the cigarette through the air insouciantly before passing it back.

“Well, my parents took more pictures. On their trip. Mom started a whole new photo album.”

“Mm,” Tony winced briefly but let Bruce continue, already a little wary of where this was going.

“I guess that put me in a pretty bad mood the rest of the day,” Bruce retold, only pausing to inhale the nicotine betwixt his fingers. “I was stupid. Dad asked me to go get his whiskey and I talked back to him, told him to get it his goddamn self.” A brief smirk quirked his lips at the memory, maybe, just maybe a little proud of himself for actually doing it, even if it had blown up in his face.

Tony felt the same smirk curl his lips upward as the cig exchanged hands again. Man, he wished he’d been there to see that. “Nice,” he commented. “Guessing it didn’t turn out well?”

Bruce’s face fell, shaking his head, “No. Mom yelled at me. She... she took his side.”

Ah, that explained a lot. His mom was probably his closest friend for most of his life. “That... No, that’s definitely out of character for her... Not to mention I can’t picture your mom ever yelling at you, or, well... anyone, really.” Tony handed the cigarette back.

Bruce took another long drag. “She didn’t even say goodnight tonight... And you know she _always_ says goodnight.”

Tony sighed, nodding his understanding. This guy could likely take out the entire Glendale football team bare-handed, but under all that he was pretty much lost without his mother. “Not that I know anything about _normal_ parents,” Tony said, “but I’m pretty sure she’ll have let it go by morning.”

“I guess.” Bruce shook his head, still feeling like an idiot for letting his emotions get the best of him again. “I wish I wasn’t such a wreck all the time.”

“You’re allowed to be a wreck sometimes,” Tony reassured him, patting him on the shoulder, “It’s called ‘teen angst’. It’s not all that productive, but then again, neither is sex in a car.”

The high schooler felt himself chuckle at that, feeling their awkwardness start to ebb and his spirits start to rise. Yeah, maybe not, but it had felt damn good, and without it he’d probably still be moping in his room. He extended the last of the cigarette Tony’s way. “So, why are you cutting back?” he inquired.

“On what? Car sex?” Tony raised an eyebrow, not following.

Bruce chortled again, the other’s obliviousness never not endearing. “No. On cigarettes,” he ribbed, giving his friend a playful swat. “You said you only wanted a half. Moderation isn’t usually your thing.”

“Blame this guy,” Tony chuckled, tapping the Holter monitor as his answer. It wasn’t completely straightforward, but Bruce was finally in a good mood, why should he spoil it for both of them by telling him how _his_ day went? It was going fine now, and that was all that mattered.

Bruce hm’d. He was tempted to inquire further about the device, then again, he figured it was probably a routine once-a-year type of thing for his friend. Certainly nothing to worry about. If there was, Tony would have told him as much.

“Plus,” Tony added, “I bought that pack for _you_.” He took one last drag and flicked the butt right at the reserved parking sign. It bounced off, accompanied by a tiny spray of ash and orange embers, leaving behind a small black smudge right above the new principal’s surname. “Fifty points,” he muttered under his breath.

“Well, I won’t waste it,” Bruce promised. His nicotine fit was gone and he’d only needed half a dose to accomplish it-- so maybe he could argue that his New Year’s resolution was only _half_ broken. A Stark-ian way of looking at it, but what the Hell. The boy smiled awkwardly a moment, realizing that he’d never quite ‘thanked his friend in person’ like he’d been told to. “And uh... you know, thank you.” He leaned in for a kiss, which Tony gladly reciprocated.

“Don’t mention it; I made out pretty well myself,” Tony replied smirkingly once his lips were free. He let out a contented sigh, leaning back into his seat. He heard the cushion squeak as Bruce did the same, and a moment later he felt the big guy’s hand slip into his. He craned his neck to gaze up at the night sky once again. The stars were a lot more comforting at second glance.


	42. Chapter 42

Bruce couldn’t exactly recall _what_ time it had been when he crawled back through his bedroom window, but he hadn’t had any trouble getting to sleep, if that was any indicator. He was also still zonked flat on his back when a light knock sounded on his door, rousing him from unconsciousness.

“Bruce, darling? Are you awake?”

The teen pushed himself upright in bed, knuckling at his eyes aggressively. “Yeah,” he called to his mother on the other side of the door.

He managed to get his glasses on just as she entered. “Good morning, sweetie,” Rebecca smiled.

The boy averted his gaze to his comforter, wringing the sheets in his hands lightly. She _had_ let it go then, like Tony had said she would. Cautiously he allowed the relief to sink in. “Morning, Mom,” he returned softly.

“My, your room is more of a mess than usual...” Rebecca noticed, stopping to look around at all the strewn books as she came over to his bedside. They were on the desk, the nightstand, the floor, leftover from his tantrum. She bent down to pick ‘A Separate Peace’ up.

Bruce flushed a shade of pink. “I-I’ll clean it up.” Before he could hop out of bed to begin attending to it however, her fingers were caressing his hair. His eyes slid shut, savoring it.

“You’ve been cooped up in your room all week. Why don’t we go do something fun together and get out of the house awhile?” she offered, the book rested on her lap.

His eyes popped open to gape at her. Of course he _had_ been out of the house, just last night in fact, for several hours. But she wouldn’t know that, and he was honestly too shocked by what she was suggesting to expend much thought on last night. “I-- we--” he stuttered, clutching the covers once more, “Wh-where would we go?”

“Well...” the woman paused to pretend to think, her brown eyes on his star ceiling a moment before returning to him, “the library might be a good place to start. Get you a few new books to read. Does that sound like fun?” She smiled at him knowingly.

Bruce threw his arms around his mother, eyes swimming. He nodded against her. It had been a long time since he’d spent time browsing the library-- ever since he started buying books with his own allowance, he’d quit checking them out. But since his allowance was suspended currently, it only made sense. She must have thought of that. It would be just like his elementary years when she’d take him (and sometimes Betty too) on the weekends. Happy tears started to brim on his bottom lids; he pulled away before things could get too over-emotional. “I’ll shower and get dressed,” he asserted, standing.

His mother smiled again. “Breakfast will be waiting,” she said as she placed ‘A Separate Peace’ on his bookshelf and left to give him privacy.

\--

Bruce made sure to tidy his room before coming out to the breakfast table, and he wolfed down three slices of syrup-drenched french toast like they were nothing. He wasn’t _quite_ bouncing in his seat as his mother backed the car out of the garage and down the driveway, but it was a close thing. He found himself studying the arm rest as he laid his elbow on it. Sitting where he was right now, headed where they were headed, he could actually remember leaving big smudges at the bottom of the passenger window, because he’d lean as far forward in his seat as he could to press his fingers to the glass and peer out-- he’d been a lot shorter back then. He chuckled.

They started into downtown, past Glendale High and city hall, but when his mom missed the turn, his eyebrows drew down. “Mom, the library’s that way,” he spoke up as the public park went by; he wasn’t sure how she could have forgotten.

“That’s the little kid’s library, Bruce,” the woman giggled at her son. She leaned towards him just a little. “We’re going to the big person’s library...” she whispered as if it were a special secret.

Bruce blinked and sat back in his seat again. He guessed he probably had outgrown the other library by now, outside of book club meetings... their selection was mostly picture books and early readers and of course some young adult novels and magazines and study aids. Now he wondered where he was being taken. A brand-new sense of excitement filled him and he could barely sit still.

They drove a considerable amount further, past the edge of town where the hills rose up and into a recess, before his mother turned into a large, but mostly empty parking lot-- obviously Friday morning wasn’t peak hours. Bruce ducked his head to stare out the windshield, his eyes going wide at the three-story building in front of them. It was a mix of contemporary glass paneling and mid-1950s brick and the sign outside christened it as the ‘Ernest Lawrence Library and Research Center’. Lawrence? As in _Lawrencium?_

“Come on, sweetie,” Rebecca laughed again, motioning him out of the Civic. Bruce did so, almost tripping over his own feet because he was too busy staring at the building instead of looking where he was going. He followed his mother up to the entrance, lucky to make it without having his hand held.

It was even more astounding on the inside as it was on the outside. A huge atrium made up the center of the library, thirty-foot tall pillars holding up a domed ceiling that was patterned with a criss-crossing mesh of light and dark wood. To either side there were escalators and elevators that led up to the second and third floors, each of which had indoor balconies that overlooked the central room. Rows upon rows of shelves, each tall enough to warrant their own library ladders, stretched throughout the building, and there were dozens of spacious seating areas spread throughout the layout.

How had he not known this was here? Why hadn’t he ever been taken here before? Bruce’s feet carried him over to the patina glazed copper statue of Ernest Lawrence standing in the lobby. He was holding an over-sized atom, attempting to smash it with his bare hands. The plaque at the bottom read ‘In celebration of his contributions to the Manhattan Project and “Big Science”.’ Bruce let out a breath. The amount of scientific knowledge-- most especially, nuclear physics-- housed within these walls had to be unfathomable.

Rebecca tugged his sleeve. “This way, darling.” He followed her again as they wove through the corded area that designated the line for the front desk. “Hello,” she greeted the woman working at the computer. “I’d like to renew my membership and get one for my son as well.”

Renew.

“What’s your name?” the librarian inquired.

“Banner. Rebecca Banner,” his mother repeated.

Some typing. “...I don’t see you in our system.”

Bruce’s eyes snapped back to the library ladders. The photograph of his mom. This was where it had been taken! “This is the library you and Dad used to go to...” he breathed out. “Before I was born.”

Rebecca looked at her son with surprise, mouth opening but words not forming. “I-- yes,” she stuttered out in answer to the librarian, “I had a membership back in the 80’s, I suppose it wouldn’t have been submitted retroactively to the new digital infrastructure.” Bruce managed half a blink; he wasn’t used to hearing big words like that out of his mother-- he’d always known she was highly intelligent, but he was used to her being ‘just Mom’ and using the kind of words a mom would use.

“Actually, we completed the process for all records dating back to the 1950’s when the library first opened several years ago,” the librarian straightened her glasses.

“Oh, silly me,” his mother laughed, placing her hand on her breast. “My membership would have been under my maiden name, Corbin.”

Rebecca Corbin. Just sounding it out in his head sounded weird. And yet it would have been who she was until she married his father and took his name.

“Ah yes, here you are,” the woman stared down her nose at the screen. “Would you like me to update your last name in the renewal?”

“Please and thank you.”

“And what’s your name, young man?” the librarian addressed him.

The teen almost answered ‘Bruce’ but remembered to catch himself for documentation such as this. “David Banner.”

The woman asked him a few additional questions, such as his date of birth and phone number before finishing up. “You’ll both be able to pick up your new membership cards on your way out. Enjoy your visit.”

“Thank you,” Rebecca said before they exited the lobby into the atrium. They walked along together a moment, wandering past shelves before his mother spoke up. “Bruce, how did you know Daddy and I used to go here?” she asked, pushing some hair behind an ear.

“I--” Bruce stuttered out before swallowing the sentence and starting over. “Dad showed me a picture. Of you. You were on one of the ladders,” he motioned towards the nearest one. Not the truth, but close enough. “It’s um... a really nice library, seeing it in person,” he tacked on, hoping to get off the subject.

“Yes, it is. Your father and I used to spend hours upon hours in here...” The woman looked up, seeming to go off into her own thoughts for a moment as she twirled the necklace he’d recently given her between her fingers. She shook her head. “Well, you don’t have to wait up for my sake, why don’t you go exploring?” she urged her son with a twinkle in her eye. “I’ll be right here,” she sat in one of the armchairs.

Bruce nodded eagerly. There was a lot to see after all.

\--

He didn’t stop searching the aisles until he had collected a nicely-sized stack of reading material. More than enough to keep him occupied over the weekend until school started Monday. The book he was probably most excited to have found was ‘Nuclear Physics in a Nutshell’, and he rushed back to show it to his mom.

Except when he got to where she’d said she’d be, she wasn’t there.

Bruce turned around in a quick 360° circle, just in case he’d accidentally run past her without noticing. No. Where was she? Maybe she’d just gone to grab a book for herself; she wouldn’t have gone far. He began to scan the rows, fully expecting to see her in the very next one he checked, but she wasn’t anywhere to be found. He felt his heart start to pitter-patter. He didn’t even have his phone to call her since it was still locked up in his dad’s study. “Mom?” he let his voice sound out, not too loud but still clear. He turned another circle. “Mom?”

Could something have happened to her? The library seemed too safe for anything like that. Would she have left? No, that was stupid. She would’ve found him first. She wouldn’t leave him out here. “Mooom?” he called out a little louder, setting down his stack of books and speeding up his gait to search faster. “Mom, where are you??” He felt his mental control stripping away, drawing wilder conclusions by the second. But what if she’d brought him out here _to_ leave him here? His chest began to heave. “Mooo--”

“Bruce, darling!” the woman caught him by both arms, sudden enough to make him jump in his skin. Her brown eyes connected with his. “Why are you yelling? Gracious, you’re going to get us thrown out.” She ran her fingers hastily through his hair to calm him down.

The teenager exhaled, shaking in her grip. He stared at the carpet through misty eyes that made the pattern printed on it swim. “I... I thought I’d lost you...” he mumbled.

“Honey...” Rebecca’s voice was sweet but slightly weary, “I just went to the bathroom. You shouldn’t have let yourself get so worried; I was coming right back.”

God, this was really embarrassing. There weren’t many people in the library, but the fact remained that in a span of no more than three minutes, he’d gone from capable teenager to a child crying out for his mommy. Why was he so pathetic? Was he going to act like this the rest of his life? Clinging to her?

He really needed to grow up.

That was the whole problem after all. When he’d been born, he’d needed his mother’s care, and she’d given it selflessly; she’d given up her job, her whole career to be there for him. And then his father... missing the woman he’d married, whom he cherished for her intellect and accustomed to her attention, had grown abusive, lashing out at them both for many years. He’d nearly demolished his parents’ relationship in the time it had taken him to physically mature. Now his mom was finally going back to work, to resume where she’d left off, and his parents were patching things up, rekindling their marriage, but he was still being a baby.

Last night? She’d probably just been tired, or thought she shouldn’t disturb him to say goodnight. And when she ‘yelled’? She was sticking by her husband in an instance where he had clearly been in the right, just the same way Bruce did Tony when the situation called for it. And those pictures she’d shown him? She hadn’t done it intending to hurt him, she was just sharing the leftover excitement she’d had from the trip-- he’d chosen to take offense to it, instead of just being happy for her, like a well-balanced, grown-up person would.

Bruce lifted his head with a nod. “Yeah. I’m sorry, Mom,” he said in an even tone of voice.

Rebecca’s head tipped to the side, patting his cheek. “That’s alright, sweetheart. There’s no harm done. Did you find any good books?”

He nodded again and retrieved them.

“My goodness!” his mother exclaimed, eying the thick stack held in his hands. “I hope you aren’t intending me to read one of _those_ to you before bed.”

The teenager grinned at the irony of her light-hearted joke and merely answered with a “No.”

“Well, did you want to go to the desk and check them out?” she offered.

Bruce paused thoughtfully, glancing over at the row of computers. “Actually, I thought I might get online and sign up for some JC courses,” he said.

“Oh!” the woman brightened. “Well alright. You just let me know when you’re ready to go. I’ll hold onto those-- don’t want your hands full!” She kissed his temple as she took the books from him. “My little angel, drinking from the firehose.”

He chuckled at the endearment, already feeling more independent as he walked over to a vacant computer.

\--

After the library, Bruce and his mother went to a nearby cafe to have a light lunch, which was a nice treat since so often all their meals were at home. The fact that they both enjoyed cooking certainly didn’t detract from their ability to enjoy someone _else’s_ cooking. His BLT was made to perfection: evenly-toasted sourdough, crisp fresh lettuce, ripe juicy but still firm tomato, and mouth-watering bacon. Bruce hummed as he placed the last bite in his mouth and chewed. This morning had been so enjoyable, he’d almost forgotten he was supposed to be grounded.

“So, sweetheart,” Rebecca began, smiling across the table at her 17-year old son as he finished wiping his fingers on a paper napkin, “Have you thought of something you’d like to do with Tony when you two are back together?”

Bruce was caught 100% off-guard by the question. “I um...” he bisected his answer by taking a sip of his lemonade through the straw, “No, not really.” He rubbed the back of his head, recalling Tony himself had mentioned planning something ‘awesome’ after his grounding had blown over, not that Bruce had any ideas of what.

“Heavens, nothing at all?” his mother clicked her tongue, seeming surprised. “Well, I suppose if you can’t think of anything, there’s always dinner and a movie.”

Bruce just about choked on his drink. He stared at his mother incredulously. “M-mom, are you telling me to... to take Tony on a... date??”

The woman did her best not to giggle at her son’s reaction. “You like him, don’t you?” she said; it was a good observation, to her credit.

“Yeah, I like him, but I can’t... I can’t _date_ him!” Bruce outburst and now he was really hoping he hadn’t gotten the entire cafe’s attention. He could feel his ears and neck burning red.

“Why ever not?” Rebecca posed with a little laugh.

The teenager sat back in his seat, giving it hard consideration. This was that talk. The one that he was supposed to have had with Tony. The one about getting them ‘on the same page’ as Betty had said, the one they’d both been avoiding for who knew how long now. Bruce bit his lip. “W-well... well because... because I’m too young to start dating...” he started out trepidatiously, wringing the back of his neck, “Because I’m not emotionally r-ready...” The words died in his throat immediately after saying them. Where had he heard that? Those weren’t his words, were they? No, they had to be-- his vision dropped down to the diamond brooch on his mother’s chest--

His father’s.

Before he could stutter out anything else, his mom was responding. “Love isn’t something rational, sweetie. It’s not something we can control or choose when we want it to happen.”

Bruce found himself studying the napkin in his lap. He was in love with Tony, that couldn’t exactly be denied. But dating went a lot further than just having feelings for someone, it meant commitment, like his father had said. And it wasn’t that aspect where the hang-up was. He knew he could be committed, he knew that even _Tony_ , when it got right down to it, could be committed too. In fact, contrary to outside evidence and everything that was built up solely for the sake of appearances, what Tony wanted _most_ was to have commitment to another person.

But that person shouldn’t be him. Like Betty before him, Tony deserved someone better. Someone stable, mature, and in control of his emotions.

He shook off his thoughts, looking back up at his mom. “When did you figure out he and I...?” he trailed off bashfully.

Rebecca regarded her son with a smile. “Do you remember that night you came back from Tony’s and you told me about the song he played for you on his guitar? You were so excited; it was the most precious thing.”

The teen felt his mouth go slack. That had been months ago. Back before the start of Christmas break. Back before the Westmore/Glendale unity bonfire. She’d known far before either of _them_ had. Hell, half those times when they’d been loud in his bedroom she probably _had_ heard and didn’t disturb them, which made Bruce flush all over again. He cleared his throat. “Y-yeah. That night meant a lot to me.”

His mother beamed. “You should give things a try with him, darling. What harm could it do?”

Bruce wet his lips and averted his eyes. That was the question, wasn’t it? “I’ll think about it,” he answered quietly.

\--

They stopped at the grocery store on the way back home, and started on preparing dinner shortly after. Roast chicken with asparagus, quinoa, and a winter fruit pie with walnut crumb topping. Bruce was mostly in charge of the main dish and its side while his mother worked on the dessert, but their paths crossed frequently in the small kitchen, helping one another out. Bruce found himself genuinely smiling when he heard her begin to sing softly to herself. It was bittersweet, perhaps, to think that this would happen less often soon, but he was thankful to have this togetherness with her today.

He wasn’t even that upset when his father got back from work and the three of them sat down to eat. There was no mention of his misbehavior from the night before, the atmosphere surprisingly tension-free. Like a functional family having dinner together.

“Bruce and I explored the ELLRC today,” Rebecca shared pointedly. The high schooler felt his throat constrict, gaze sliding over to his father to evaluate how he’d respond to the fact he and his mom had had an outing together to none other than the place where she and his father used to frequent.

“Ah yes,” Brian said with recollection; he nodded his head agreeably at his wife. He didn’t seem jealous or upset, in fact, it almost seemed like he had expected the information... was that weird? Bruce couldn’t decide. His father chewed and swallowed. “It’s been some time since I was last there. I’m certain they’ve made some improvements. What did you think of it, Bruce?”

“It was very impressive, sir,” he responded. Succinct, but well-suited.

“It ought to be,” the man waved his knife, “It was dedicated to an impressive man.” He skewered his chicken with his fork, cutting through it with the knife with two back-and-forth strokes. “A very impressive man indeed.”

“And Bruce signed up for some college courses while we were there, didn’t you, sweetie?” His mother smiled at him with obvious pride as she placed her hands down in her lap. Bruce blushed faintly.

His father regarded him with a pleased uplift of his eyebrows. “Oh? I’m curious, what courses did you select this time, Bruce?”

The teen wiped his mouth on his napkin. “‘Conceptual Physics’ and ‘Introduction to Nuclear Engineering and Radiological Sciences’.” Of course, he’d been tempted by several more on the course catalogue-- echocardiography, for instance, had caught his eye but he didn’t have the prerequisites for it, though that hadn’t stopped him from emailing the professor to ask if he could sit in on a couple of classes, just for the Hell of it.

Rebecca clapped her hands together lightly and rapidly. “Oh, those sound like they’ll be such fun for you, darling.”

“Taking a shine to physics, eh?” Brian gave a few short but approving nods of his head. “An exemplary discipline, if there ever was one. Excellent. Excellent. You’ll do well there. You’ve made good choices today, Bruce.”

Bruce bit his lip, sure that he should be basking in this rare moment of praise. But instead he just felt like some vicarious self-extension of the man bestowing it upon him. Of course his father was glad he was interested in physics-- it was _his_ field. The thing that would probably please the old man the most was if after college, Bruce was a carbon-copy of him. Another one of his great accomplishments.

He swallowed down his bitterness with another bite of quinoa, reminding himself to quit sulking like a child and man-up. So what if he liked physics too? He was making the choice to pursue it independently of his father’s wishes, and there wasn’t a point to drawing any further comparisons.

He finished his food and washed off his dishes before carving out a warm slice of pie for each of them, adding a dollop of whipped cream to his own to spoil himself. The sweetness counter-acted the leftover taste of bile in his mouth at least.

“I’ll do the dishes,” he offered, standing to collect the dessert plates. He carried them over to the sink where the rest of the dirty dishes were piled up and turned on the faucet, beginning to scrub. Over the sound of running water, he discerned his father’s voice.

“That was an excellent idea you had, taking Bruce to the library, Rebecca. I was very concerned after last night, I had no idea he’d respond so well to such a trip.”

So his father had known all along then that they were going to the library. No wonder he reacted the way he had. Bruce felt his heart twinge.

“Mother’s intuition,” Rebecca whispered back. “Often gentleness is the answer over forcefulness.”

There was a long pause; Bruce didn’t dare turn around yet, else he indicate he’d overheard their conversation. “Hopefully we can keep him on the straight and narrow from here forward,” Brian said.

“I hope so too,” Rebecca responded. His parents exchanged a kiss.

Bruce’s eyes clamped shut and his teeth clenched. Oh so _he_ was the problem?? They were just going to go behind his back and dupe him into behaving the way they wanted him to? He thrust the last plate in the dishwasher, making it clatter loudly. It drew the attention of both his mother and father. “Sorry, slipped,” Bruce mumbled the excuse. “May I go to my room and read?” he asked permission as was expected of him.

His mother smiled. “Of course, dear. Don’t turn in too late, school will be starting before you know it!”

“I won’t,” the teen answered, walking over to get a kiss on the cheek. With that he went to his room and closed his door, walking past his stack of newly-rented library books to go to the window instead. He opened it and leaned out, proceeding to perch a cigarette between his lips and strike a match across the sill to light up.

He procured his iPod. _‘2 of 20.’_ he texted to his friend.


	43. Halloween Movie Marathon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember way back in chapter four wherein we mentioned Tony and Bruce had had a Halloween Movie marathon? Well, a year of writing later, Chevy and I decided to write that 'unwritten' chapter and post it up. Please understand that the following does not take place at the present timeline of the fic (but rather sometime between chapters 3 and 4)! We just wanted to do something fun for our awesome readers to celebrate the holiday. Enjoy the bonus chapter!

“Have a lovely time, darling! I just know you will!” his mother leaned over to place a quick kiss on his temple.

Bruce rubbed the spot self-consciously before grabbing his backpack up from where it had been resting down between his feet. “Yeah. I’ll try,” he responded realistically. “Thanks, Mom.” Her smile couldn’t have been wider as he let himself out of the idling automobile and closed the door behind himself. He gave her a wave as she pulled away from the curb and drove off.

Bruce turned to face the Stark residence. The large gate that was normally closed was wide open, no doubt because of the occasion. While it was quiet now, a couple hours from now and it would be swarming with kids of all ages.

The boy found himself drifting back into thought. Thus far, he’d never been at Tony’s for more than an hour or two at a time-- what he could spare without cutting into his study time or the time he wanted alone to himself. But tonight was different. Tonight was Halloween. And he’d agreed to help the other teen hand out candy to Trick-or-Treaters.

He’d declined at first. Actually, a couple times. But it hadn’t discouraged Tony Stark from coming up with at least half a dozen more reasons why he should come over and explanations as to how _‘totally freakin’ sweet’_ it would be, until Bruce ran out of ways to politely say no. _‘C’mon, man, handing out candy alone is a total bummer!’_ the teen’s wide brown eyes pleaded with him and he’d finally given in.

Bruce looked over the yard as he headed up the driveway. A lot of effort had been expended on decorating-- several strands of orange and purple lights had been strung around the trees and awnings, copious amounts of fake cobweb had been stretched to expert wispiness on corners of the house and gate, carefully-positioned blacklights illuminated sheet ghosts that were apparently wired to a motion-detector, because they began trembling and _‘oooOOOoooh’_ ing as he walked past, and there was a plethora of other ‘spooky’ elements, like pumpkins, plastic rats, plastic bats, hollow skeleton bones, and styrofoam tombstones lying around.

The teenager stepped onto the porch and rang the doorbell. "Come on in; it's open." Was the muffled response from the other side of the door. Bruce took hold of the handle and pushed it open, looking up as he took a step inside.

"BLARGH!"

The shout alone would have been enough to make him jump, but the shadowed figure lunging forward and wildly swinging a blade a foot and a half long in criss-crosses in front of its body made Bruce stumble backwards back out onto the porch. He nearly lost his footing on the way down the step, and that was when he hit his head on a prop that had dropped quite suddenly from the ceiling-- not that he realized that was what it was. Still in panic-mode, he only caught a flash of orange as he whipped around, fist raised, slamming it through the jack-o-lantern’s crooked-cut face and sending pieces of the squash flying onto the lawn.

"Woah! Big guy, settle down; it's just me!" Tony called out, stumbling after him, pulling off the hockey mask and tossing it to the side. Bruce wasn’t swinging anymore, but he still looked a little freaked, judging from the wideness of his eyes behind his glasses. Tony’s eyebrows drew together in worry, instantly unsure now whether getting the jump on his friend had been as good idea as he’d originally schemed. From the look of the pumpkin, or what was left of it, he was starting to harbor some serious doubts. "Shit, I didn’t mean to scare you that bad."

Bruce stared at the top half of the broken gourd still penduluming on the string it was attached to, gaze drifting over to the plastic machete held in the other teen’s hand; he took a moment to compose himself before responding. “Sorry. Yeah, I’m fine. I just… I wasn’t expecting that,” he admitted. He grimaced at his hand now covered in stringy orange goop, trying to shake it off to little success.

Tony chuckled nervously. "You weren't supposed to," he said, for once not being a smart-ass; he reached to scratch his back with the end of his machete absently, "But those are some wicked crazy reflexes you've got. What are you, a ninja?"

“No…” Bruce answered, now wondering if he’d been expected to bring a costume of his own. He picked off a few pumpkin seeds stuck to his sleeve, “Just, um... easy to startle.”

"Well yeah, obviously,” Tony scoffed playfully, “But I don't think I could pull that kind of Karate Kid shit if _I_ got startled."

“It’s muscle-memory,” the teen responded awkwardly. Thankfully Tony had startled him first and the jack-o-lantern second; it wouldn’t have been good the other way around. It took Bruce a moment to tack on in further explanation, “I took Jiu Jitsu for a couple of years.”

"Oh," Well that was pretty badass, and it surprised Tony to think he hadn't known this until now. Still, his friend seemed a little too shell-shocked to elaborate on it that very moment, so Tony decided to let it go and bring it up later. "Cool. So, you wanna come in and wash the pumpkin guts off?"

“Yeah…” Bruce responded slowly, “that would be good. Sorry,” he apologized again, “I didn’t mean to destroy one of your props; I can help clean it up before the Trick-or-Treaters come.” He didn’t like leaving messes-- especially ones he was responsible for.

"It’s fine," Tony dismissed with a hand wave, "I made a ton of spares. I'm just glad you're okay." He stepped back to allow Bruce to go inside first, "Thanks for coming, by the way."

“Yeah,” the big guy acknowledged, kicking off his shoes and tracing his way to the kitchen with both hands held palms-up in front of him so as to not drip on the floor. He turned on the faucet with an elbow and began to rinse off.

"I've got pretzels, chips, popcorn, Bagel Bites, soda…” Tony listed off as he began dragging food items out of the pantry and piling them onto the island counter, “help yourself. Did you bring any DVDs?"

Bruce nodded, motioning his head to indicate he was giving Tony permission to take a peek. “In my backpack.” He shut off the water and turned for the hand towel.

Tony obliged, skimming through the small collection: Ghostbusters, a classic. Young Frankenstein, ha, nice. And Forbidden Planet, yeah, it would be. He set them down one by one atop the pile already sitting on the entertainment center, "Sweet. We have a pretty nice selection tonight." He cleared his throat, "Right, so a few rules. Number one: Movies will be played based on a majority vote.”

The big guy gave him a look. “There’s two of us.”

Tony had been prepared for that statement of the obvious. "In the event of a deadlock, we consult the Ouija board," he explained, pointing to the innocent looking board sitting on the coffee table.

“You know those things work purely off of ideomotor responses and any ‘answer’ you get is the result of happenstance and the brain’s unconscious tendency to mistakenly find order in chaos,” Bruce drew out as he carefully deliberated which bag of snacks to open.

The billionaire’s hands went to his hips. As was to be expected, the big guy was managing to be as little fun as possible. “Well if you’re going to be _that_ way about it, I _guess_ we could just take turns picking a movie," Tony shrugged, "Satan said he doesn't care either way."

Bruce finally chose to open the bag of Doritos and began crunching the corn triangles between his teeth as he followed Tony out to the living room. “Okay. What’s rule number two?” he asked, taking a seat on the couch; though he had reason to believe all of Tony’s ‘rules’ were more contrived than anything else.

“Well, rule number two was that we alternate snack refill duties and answering the door. The one with the remote is next up, and they’re in charge of pausing and rewinding if necessary.”

Bruce merely shrugged. “Makes sense, I guess.”

“And rule number three…” The big guy’s eyebrows both lifted as Tony went on. “Fun,” he established shortly. “Debbie Downer and Skeptical Susan weren’t invited for a reason. This is a bummer-free zone tonight, and I don’t want to be forced to cite you.”

“Yeah, okay, I get it,” the bespectacled boy sighed somewhat dramatically. He bit the inside of his mouth, adjusting his glasses to regard the DVDs spread out on the tabletop. “I vote for this one first,” he placed his index finger down on Young Frankenstein, separating it from the rest. A slapstick comedy might at least lighten the mood a bit.

“Excellent choice,” Tony nodded turning to head back into the kitchen, looking back over his shoulder briefly to call back, “I’m gonna go grab a coke; I would scoot to one side of the couch after popping that in if I were you.”

Bruce hummed in acknowledgement; he didn’t ask why Tony needed two-thirds of the couch all to himself. He licked off his fingers before opening the case and depressing the center knob to release the disc and walked over to the DVD player. Once he’d gotten the screen to the main menu, he returned to the sofa, slouching against the right armrest.

He got his answer when Tony vaulted over the back of the couch, plopping down only a few inches away from him, tossing his arms up in triumph, “And he sticks the landing!!”

Bruce startled again, nearly dropping his current handful of chips. “Are you going to keep doing that?” he asked, a bit of unintentional irritation evident in his speech. He wasn’t used to the other boy’s somewhat hyperactive behavior yet.

“Sorry,” Tony replied, still idly bouncing on the couch a little in spite of his embarrassment. His excitement was a little much to contain tonight, he’d noticed. “It’s just that… actually, nevermind, it’s stupid.”

Bruce shrugged, avoiding saying the ‘Probably’ poised on the tip of his tongue. “Should I hit play now?” he asked, eying the other, not sure if he’d fully settled in yet.

Tony raised an eyebrow. “You mean you’re not gonna ask?” he scoffed incredulously, “People always ask. They can hardly keep their noses out of my business long enough _not_ to.”

“Well, if I told someone ‘nevermind’, I’d want them to _never mind_ ,” Bruce explained simply. It wasn’t that difficult a concept.

“Right. Sorry. Believe it or not I’m not used to this,” Tony admitted, hanging his head, “I mean, house parties, sure, but I haven’t had a friend over like this in a while. I mean, like an actual friend. I guess I’m just excited.” And maybe he’d vaulted the couch just to show off a little. But only a little.

Bruce chewed his lip. “Yeah. It’s nice to have something to do tonight,” he returned, a little more than half-heartedly. His house never really got a lot in the ways of Trick-or-Treaters, so Halloween was the same as just about any other night, and had been for several years since he and Betty had stopped dressing up to get candy themselves.

“I can try to dial it down,” Tony offered in a small voice.

The boy rubbed the back of his neck. He was ruining the fun already, wasn’t he? And their movie marathon hadn’t even technically gotten off the ground yet. Who was he to tell Tony he couldn’t utilize his own furniture like a jungle gym? “Um… whatever. No pressure,” he returned noncommittally. Things would probably go smoother if they talked and interacted less, he reasoned. Bruce hit play.

The two teens sat there in awkward silence, Tony drinking his cola, Bruce munching his chips, the both of them obviously somewhat glad for the distraction the TV was providing. From time to time a chuckle or a snort would accidentally leak out of one or the other’s mouth, but then one head would turn towards the other and they’d go quiet again. Tony really didn’t know how to act, and he had this creeping feeling that he was going to jinx it by acting at all. He wasn’t used to filtering himself for someone else’s benefit, and he was even less used to actually _wanting_ to. But when Igor went to fetch Hans Delbruck’s brain, he just couldn’t keep a smile from deforming his lips and a laugh peeling out. “Oh God. Sorry, this is my favorite part.”

Bruce chanced a glance Tony’s way. “Why, because he drops the brain of an important scientist or because the concept of preserving brains in jars in and of itself is ridiculous?”

“The entire _thing_ is absurd. Even if a ‘Brain Depot’ was a thing, I’m pretty sure the guy doing inventory wouldn’t have put the defect brains in with the normal ones.” He paused a moment in wide-eyed realization, “Oh my God, I sound like you.”

The big guy gave a snort, shoving the teen sitting next to him. “Over-analyzing science fiction? Yeah, those brains would at least have to be placed in a freezer to slow the decaying process. Let’s not mention the volume on ‘How I Did It’ conveniently written by his great-grandfather in the man’s personal library.”

“Well I’m pretty sure the whole punch line is how implausible the entire scenario is. Plot convenience, made-up science… Not to mention the source material plays by the same rules,” Tony pointed out, “I mean, have you read the book? Man makes monster, monster is abandoned by man, goes through a whole bunch of bullshit and then both intentionally _and_ coincidentally enacts a bitter vendetta on the man and everyone he loves. Then he forces the man to make him a wife, man builds him said wife, and in a moment of clarity destroys it, because seriously, who the fuck wants _two_ reanimated abominations fucking your life over? Then a bunch of other bullshit happens and the monster just gives up, apologizes, then goes out on a raft in the middle of the ocean and basically just gives himself a viking funeral. That happens all the time, right?”

Bruce felt himself laugh at the other student’s rant. “Which is why satire was invented.”

“Exactly.” Tony nodded his agreement, “And Jesus, did we just talk over that whole scene?”

“ _You_ did,” Bruce smart-mouthed with a half-smirk. He squinted at the remote in his hand, pushing up his glasses to locate the ‘skip backward’ button. “I’ve got it,” he said as he pressed it, taking the film back to where Tony had first interrupted.

“I’ll try not to do it again,” Tony replied, sticking out his tongue, which only made Bruce hum unconvincedly. And Tony kept his promise until Inspector Kemp made his first appearance, snorting out a laugh before asking, “Does it make me an ableist if I laugh at prosthetic arm jokes? Because I’m pretty sure my disability is worse.” It was hard to divine whether he was speaking out of any genuine concern or curiosity. 

“The chronic condition that keeps you from staying quiet for more than five minutes?” Bruce ribbed, still crunching chips. “I think you’re okay in this case; it’s meant to be laughed at.”

“Cute,” Tony replied sarcastically, giving his eyes a half roll.

The movie was just getting to the part where Frau Blücher was setting the Monster free when the doorbell rang. Bruce blinked, looking towards the window-- he hadn’t even realized dark had settled over the house. He looked down at the remote held in his hand, remembering Rule #2. He quickly clicked the pause button. “So, where’s the candy?” he asked as he started to get up.

“By the door,” Tony motioned with his head. “One king size candy per kid. Two if they have a particularly sweet costume, or if you recognize them from earlier on in the night in a different costume. We reward over-achievers in this house.”

“Mm,” Bruce nodded in confirmation, turning to answer the door.

“Oh wait, wait!” Tony called after his friend, grabbing the hockey mask from atop the nearby throw pillow and tossing it underhand towards Bruce, “Catch!”

The big guy barely managed to do so. “Uh…” he tested the elastic band on the plastic mask absently before hesitantly pulling it over his face. “How bad is it?” he asked, peering through the eyeholes at the other teen.

Tony held up two thumbs enthusiastically, “Beautiful.”

Unconvinced by the assurance, Bruce moved away. He walked over to the front door and pulled it open, greeted by an enthusiastic chime of “Trick-or-Treat!” from the youngsters standing on the porch. He leaned out to count the number of heads and grabbed four candy bars from the carton so he could slip one into each child’s bag or pail. After they’d all thanked him and gone, he closed the door and returned, pushing the mask up to rest on top of his head as he took his seat back on the couch. “All yours,” he said, handing over the remote control.

“So what was the line-up?” Tony asked, thumb dancing over the play button on the remote.

“Couple of Ninja Turtles, a Disney princess and a kitty cat.”

“Cool. I’m trying to keep score,” Tony explained aloofly, “see if I can guess what’s gonna be the most popular costume this year.”

The teen chuckled. “Yeah, alright.”

“I’m still taking bets if you want in,” the billionaire added.

“That’s... alright,” Bruce said uncertainly, not able to determine if the other teen was actually serious that there was a monetary bet on said score or not. Before Tony could resume the movie, the doorbell rang a second time. “Is that you or me?” Bruce questioned the technicality, since they hadn’t yet restarted watching.

“Hang tight, I got this,” Tony reassured his friend, creeping over to the peephole and peering through. On the other side of the door were what looked like two young moms and when he looked considerably further down, three kids who probably hadn’t even hit first grade yet. He liked a good scare as much as anybody, but there was no point in giving these kids nightmares or make them pee themselves. “Hang on to the mask for now, big guy; these ones are way too young.”

“Hm…” Bruce responded, fiddling with it thoughtfully.

Tony nodded as he grabbed the bowl of candy and opened the door, stopping dead in his tracks as he got a closer look at what they were wearing. His eyes darted up to the mothers’ with questioning awe, “You dressed your kids up as _Gundams?_ ”

The women giggled and one nodded, “It was my husband’s idea, but the kids liked it, and you know… whatever makes them happy…”

“WoooOOOooosh…!” the youngest one blurbled, arms out and pretending to fly about on the stoop. The other two were having a space battle.

“How long did it take you to make these?” Tony nearly cut her off before she’d finished answering his last question. These were _way_ better than his and Pep’s cardboard ones in the attic. He was _beyond_ jealous.

“Well, it took the better part of a year to put together the pattern and get the three of them fabricated and painted. We wanted them to be lightweight and we wanted them to be able to breathe.”

The other mother continued for her, nodding enthusiastically, “It was fun, kind of like a little family project.”

“That is the most epic thing I have ever seen,” Tony said, grinning ear to ear. He set the bowl of assorted king size candies on the porch and took a step back, “Just take it. I honestly _can’t_ right now. I have no words.”

One of the mothers stooped down to crouch beside her little girl. “Pick one, Angie.”

“Ummm…” the child deliberated loudly.

“Two, kid,” Tony corrected, “I mean, if your mommy says it’s okay.”

“Two, Angie: which ones do you want?”

The girl grinned and seized a Kit Kat in one hand and a Rolos in the other. “I wanna Snickers!” her brother jammed his hand into the bowl, and some slight squabbling induced among all three children. After everything had been sorted out, the two families said their ‘thank you’s and turned to go.

“Hope I see you guys next year!” Tony called after them, chuckling to himself as he turned back inside and padded his way back towards the glow of the television. “Bruce you’ll never guess what costu--” He narrowed his eyes at the empty couch. “If you were going to take a leak you could have just said something…” he mumbled, eyes panning the room in search of the remote control. Where had he set that down last? An even better question was why wasn’t his phone where he left it on the coffee table?

_‘Stop it, Tony. You’re being stupid. All the doors are locked, all the windows are shut.’_

The television screen turned off in front of him and it caused him to jump in spite of himself. It glowed blue… ‘NO SIGNAL’.

_‘Yeah, and you also disconnected your landline to keep people from calling you tonight, and now both Bruce and your phone have gone missing. Way to go, dickhead.’_

“Bruce...?” he tried again, sliding onto the sofa hesitantly, turning to dig between the cushions for his mobile phone, searching as best he could in the limited light. “Bruce, seriously.” He wanted to believe that Bruce was pulling a gag, but if he wanted to be honest with himself, the guy was way too much of a social recluse to effectively pull that kind of thing off.

Bruce felt the other teen’s weight plop into the sofa from his position hunkered down behind it. He abandoned the remote control, picking up the machete instead. Moving very slowly, he began to stand, looming over the unsuspecting boy, knowing Tony’s eyes wouldn’t have adjusted to the darkness of the room yet. He reached forward, fingers outstretched, bringing them just past the other’s peripheral vision as he lifted the plastic blade high, casting a faint shadow on the wall to his right.

Tony wasn’t sure whether he was imagining it or not, but the hairs on the back of his neck were standing straight on end, and it felt like there was something behind him. _Breathing._ He snorted at his own foolishness and turned to look, to prove there was nothing there and that he was just-- “Oh shit!” he yelped, falling backwards and off of the couch after staring the Jason look-alike dead in the eyes. He narrowly missed the coffee table in his fall, landing flat on his back and knocking the wind out of his lungs. The darkened figure began to step around the couch towards him, menacingly brandishing its weapon; Tony scooted backwards as fast as he could and tried to think of the easiest way to make a clean break for the door before he ended up getting chopped to bits and wrapped in cellophane.

Bruce flipped the living room light switch, grinning unseen behind the mask. “Hey, want a hand up?” he offered as he pulled it off and extended the machete.

Tony gaped, relieved but outraged upon realizing that he’d been had, “You slick bastard…”

The big guy allowed himself to chuckle in amusement at the other teen’s shock and indignation. “I’m surprised it worked,” he commented honestly, pushing his glasses up.

Tony laughed nervously, putting a hand to his chest on instinct. His heartbeat was a little rushed, obviously, but the BPM was nowhere near life-threatening. “Okay, I think we’re even now.” He took a moment to catch his breath before taking the hand that was offered to him, “Nice touch hiding my phone, by the way. I need to stop underestimating you.”

“Thanks,” Bruce said, hiding a bit of a smile as he pulled Tony to his feet and handed back the electronic device that he’d put in his back pocket. He had to admit that scaring the Hell out of Tony had been kind of... fun. He fetched the remote from behind the couch. “Back to our regularly scheduled programming?”

“ _Please_ ,” Tony answered, his tone more than agreeable; he gestured toward the couch, “After you. I’m keeping an eye on you from now on.” He followed Bruce around the arm of the chair and sat down after the other teen. Tony plopped down close enough to Bruce that their thighs almost brushed, but both were content and relaxed enough not to notice. “That also counts as your bathroom break,” Tony added before hitting play. Bruce snorted in amusement, but didn’t argue.

They got several more visitors before the movie ended and the credits rolled. Tony wiped a fake tear from his eye, “That ending gets me every time.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Bruce asked, withholding a snort as he popped one last flavored corn chip in his mouth-- Tony had laughed at every sex-related joke made, which, considering it was a Mel Brooks film, had been frequently. He folded up the open end of the Doritos to clip it, headed for the kitchen. “So, what next?”

The billionaire tapped his lip. “Well, we got comedy out of the way. It’s too early for a scary movie…” he mused-- that would come closer to midnight, when they were sure to not be interrupted by any more Trick-or-Treaters; didn’t want to be pulled out of the moment. “I guess it’s either cheesy 1950’s movie, or a family movie.”

“Either’s fine by me,” Bruce said agreeably, searching the fridge for a drink after all those salty chips. He grabbed a ginger ale.

“Well, Pepper’s been nagging at me for years to sit down and watch Hocus Pocus. Apparently it’s the ‘quintessential kid’s Halloween flick of the early nineties’. We have the DVD but I just never got around to it. I guess I could take some inspiration from you and step out of the box.” He stuck an elbow in the big guy’s side.

Bruce snorted. The doorbell rang again. He set his drink down on the counter. “I’ll get it,” he volunteered.

“Hey, that reminds me,” Tony stopped him quick, “You should totally dress up next time. I mean, I don’t mind sharing the costume, but it’d be awesome if we both had one. We could coordinate. Jay and Silent Bob? Mario and Luigi?” His smirk grew a little wider, “ _‘Fronkensteen’_ and _‘I-gor’?_ ”

The teen tried to keep from smirking. “I think you’d make a better Pinky than Igor,” he gave Tony a bat on the head and headed for the front door.

“I’m sorry, but in what universe do you get to be The Brain?” Tony spouted indignantly, pushing himself up off the couch to retrieve the DVD, “ _I’m_ the one who makes all the plans.”

“Say ‘Narf’,” Bruce prompted.

Tony gave Bruce a dead-eyed stare, “I am not going to say nar-- oh fuck you!” Tony groaned in realization, slapping his forehead and falling back into the couch lengthways dramatically.

Chuckling, Bruce attended to the door. A couple minutes later he came back, grabbing his ginger ale from the kitchen before joining the other teen on the couch where he had the movie at the main menu waiting.

“Alright, what was the line-up this time?” Tony asked before bringing his own can of cola up to his lips.

“Group of older kids this time,” Bruce explained. “Master Chief, Chell from Portal-- she had the portal gun and everything. Jack Sparrow, the guy from Hellraiser, Batman--”

Tony almost choked on his drink, “Oh my God. Tell me you didn’t give Batman anything.”

The teen’s eyebrow lifted perplexedly. “Of course I gave him something. You said everyone gets one king-size.”

“Not the Batmans! Batmen? Whatever they are. You’re enabling them! If you give them candy then you’re telling them that it’s okay,” Tony countered as if he was spouting common sense. Maybe to him it was.

Bruce was slow to respond to this outburst. “...What’s wrong with Batman?”

“Oh my God, Bruce. _Everything_.” Tony threw his arms up, “He’s a solemn jackass, a closet sociopath, and a vigilante who arguably does more _harm_ for Gotham than _good_.”

The other boy couldn’t help but smirk just a little bit seeing Tony so worked up over such an inconsequential topic. He decided to play devil’s advocate a moment. “Okay, sure, but you have to admit that out of all the DC comic book characters, he _is_ the most engaging and easiest to relate to.”

“Please, the character is so stale that they have to reboot his franchise every three movies. I don’t have to admit shit,” Tony retorted, standing to pace around the couch. He held up his fingers counting out all his supporting arguments as he went down the list, “He doesn’t have any real powers, but he has more than enough cash to throw around that he can _buy_ his way into superhero status like it’s some sort of country club.” He paused to let out a scoff, “Well, that might not be a crime, but God damn man, if you have the cash and the balls to make yourself into a superhero, have a little pride and _act_ like a damn superhero.” He nearly paced into the other room mid-rant, but made a quick 180 back towards the couch as he continued, “He needs to stop angsting over everything, and stop avoiding relationships like they’re the plague. He’s afraid to let anybody get close to him,” another scoff, “Why? Because it puts their lives at risk? Hello? It’s Gotham city. _Everyone’s_ life is at risk, _all the time_ , regardless of whether Bruce Wayne decides to get his dick wet or not. And the only reasoning provided for all of his flaws is that his parents were murdered when he was a kid. Meanwhile, Bambi grew up just fine. Survived a forest fire and all sorts of shit.”

“I see your point,” Bruce hummed as if in deep philosophical thought over all of what Tony had said, “I’ll be sure to break the king-size in half next time.”

Tony blinked a moment, disarmed, before finding his snarky comeback. “Do not make me into the bad guy here, Bruce.” He slammed a fist into his open palm, “We have to be firm with the children, or they’ll never learn.”

The antics were only cute for so long. “Just sit down,” Bruce rolled his eyes and made a grab for the other teen’s shirt, pulling him back toward the couch.

“Hey hey hey--!” Tony yelped as he was yanked sharply forward, toppling over the arm of the sofa. He mumbled into the cushion, “You know, ‘Shut up, Tony’ works too,” he said as he lifted his head dizzily, and the first thing he noticed before instinctually scooting backwards into a seated position, was that he hadn’t been mumbling into the cushion at all, but the big guy’s leg.

“Not from my observations it doesn’t,” Bruce stated, smacking the remote into the still-befuddled Tony’s palm.

Tony shook his head slowly and hit play. He was a little too weirded out still to respond. The benefit of that though was that he didn’t interrupt for quite some time. Until Max and Dani began arguing about whether he’d take his little sister out Trick-or-Treating.

“Okay, I get that this kid is trying to act cool and all,” Tony began, “but he’s what, a freshman? Sophomore, _maybe?_ And he’s saying he’s too old to Trick-or-Treat?” Incredulity lingered in his voice.

Bruce glanced at the other teen. “What age do you think would be a more appropriate cut-off?” he asked.

“I don’t think it’s a black and white issue, big guy. We’re too old to Trick-or-Treat when we feel too old to Trick-or-Treat. Age is just a number,” he took a long swig of his coke before adding, “...unless you’re a pedophile.”

“But you just said Max wasn’t too old and _he_ decided he is,” Bruce pointed out.

“He’s being pressured by society, Bruce! It’s the same tired tough guy stereotypes that used to shame men who wear pink, or sit with their legs crossed, or drive a Prius! I mean nevermind that Priuses suck and I’m gonna design a hybrid car twenty times more awesome one day, but that’s not the point!”

Bruce’s mouth twitched into a partial smile; he hid it by rubbing his fingers across his jaw. “You wish we were out Trick-or-Treating right now, don’t you?”

Tony waved dismissively, “Don’t be stupid; I’m way too old for that shit now.”

“You’re not just saying that because you’re feeling pressured by my presence?” Bruce prodded, unwilling to believe it.

“No, I’m saying it because we both get more enjoyment out of conversations if we disagree on everything. Kind of like an intellectual penis contest. On a side note, mine’s totally bigger.”

The big guy reached over and gave him a smack on the head, causing the boy to flinch and let out a noise of surprise. “I’m going to get a candy bar,” Bruce said as he stood up, “you need to rewind the movie anyway.”

Tony narrowed his eyes as he rubbed the back of his head, “Normally, I’d make some comment on candy bars and phallic imagery, but I get the feeling that euphemisms aren’t going to be very well received on your part...”

For the record, normally they weren’t, but in this case he recognized that he had to fight fire with fire. Like anyone Tony’s age and gender, his capacity to make things needlessly sexual was limitless, and his own non-participation would only be seen as grounds for the other teen to continue until he got a reaction. Bruce selected a couple of chocolate bars. “Why? Because they’re King-sized?” he shot back, tossing one of the Butterfingers directly into the other student’s lap.

Tony raised an eyebrow, plucking it up quickly, “Did you just…?” He shook his head, “I _really_ need to stop underestimating you.” He chuckled and aimed the clicker at the TV set, pressing rewind, “Say when.”

Bruce slipped back into his seat as he pulled the wrapper down off his Crunch bar, watching the screen unblinkingly. “When.”

Tony hit play a millisecond later, and they continued from where they left off, Tony nibbling on his Butterfinger silently, genuinely interested in how the kids in the movie were going to get rid of the witches in a town where none of the grown-ups would take them seriously because of the day of the year. Still, it was near-impossible not to comment from time to time. “Some of these jokes are a little… mature. Is this really a Disney movie? Like seriously, how many times have they made fun of this kid for still having his virginity?”

“The interesting thing is that I know I watched this movie with my mom when I was a lot younger, but I don’t remember any of the inappropriate jokes,” Bruce commented. “Shows our brains automatically filter out what we don’t understand and disregard it as irrelevant data.”

“Yeah, I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” Tony replied, taking the last bite of his candy bar and wadding up the wrapper. “Do I need to skip back again?” 

“No, it’s alright,” Bruce hummed. He was gradually getting used to Tony’s frequent commentary, and he was participating almost as much as the other boy. The doorbell rang again. “That’s you,” Bruce said.

Tony let out a long dramatic sigh, passing his friend the remote, “Pause it quick. I wanna see what happens next.”

The next couple hours went by much the same, sharing commentary, pausing when the doorbell rang, snacking. When Hocus Pocus ended, they popped in Creature from the Black Lagoon. When that ended, they did Rocky Horror Picture Show. It started to slow down around nine-thirty, the doorbell ringing more and more infrequently, and by ten they hadn’t had any visitors for a good fifteen minutes.

“Okay, I’m pretty sure Trick-or-Treating is over for the year. What do you say we pop in something that’s actually scary?”

Bruce adjusted his glasses before looking over at the teen seated beside him. He wet his lips. “Actually scary? You mean like a horror movie?”

“Well, the guy at the Best Buy recommended one when I went browsing the other day,” he paused to pluck a case off the coffee table, holding it up for his friend to look at, “This guy here.”

Bruce took it from him. “‘•REC’.” He turned it around to read off the back, “‘Trapped in a quarantined Barcelona apartment building with residents, firefighters and a growing horde of ravenous zombies, television reporter Angela and her cameraman, Pablo, record brutal deaths and terrifying events while trying to stay alive. Filmed entirely from unseen Pablo’s point of view, this tension-filled Spanish horror film thrills viewers with its aggressive action.’” He pushed his glasses back up again, “Well, it sounds cinematically interesting from a production standpoint, if they really only used one camera.”

“Yeah, the guy said it was based on some movie, or some movie was based on it,” Tony scratched the back of his neck, “I wasn’t really listening. You know how movie snobs can be. He said it was good, I bought it. End of transaction.”

“Well, we can watch it I guess,” the big guy shrugged.

“You don’t sound very excited.” Tony noted,voice taking on a teasing tone, “Are you scared already?”

Bruce’s jaw set. “No, it’s just not something I’d usually watch.”

“Right,” Tony nodded in agreement, “Because you’re scared.”

Bruce gave the other boy a swift swat. “I said we could watch it,” he said flatly. He popped open the DVD case and pulled out the disc to put it in the player. “Are you holding the remote or am I?” he asked, holding up the clicker.

“I lost count. Does it matter at this point? There’s no more Trick-or-Treaters left. Nobody with half a mind is going to come knocking for the rest of the night.”

“Alright, I’ll set it on the coffee table then,” Bruce agreed, having set the subtitles to English and selecting Play from the menu. The placement was specific, just out of both of their reaches.

“JARVIS, lights,” Tony whispered into his phone, causing all the lights to dim gradually until they were completely off.

Bruce shifted in his seat but didn’t make comment on the choice, instead just watching the screen ahead of him. It was fairly innocuous at first-- of course it was. How else was it going to lure viewers into a false sense of security? The female lead, Angela Vidal, was shadowing the local fire department for the station’s news segment ‘While You’re Asleep’. _‘This will sound terrible, but I’d love the alarm to ring right now and everyone to run off,’_ Angela said. Bruce gave a snort. “Even if I hadn’t read the back cover, I’d know that was foreshadowing.”

“Well whatever happens, you kind of want to feel like they were asking for it anyway, right? Isn’t that one of the underlying themes in the horror genre? Punishing people?” His words sounded slightly more absent, likely due to the fact that he was reading subtitles as opposed to listening to dialogue.

“Doesn’t dismemberment and disemboweling go beyond punishment?” Bruce asked, not that he had any clue what kind of fate lay in store for the characters they were watching.

“Do you think a violent machete death is a proportional punishment for premarital sex?”

“Well, in some cultures…” Bruce started, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

“Bruce. Watch the movie.”

The big guy bristled somewhat at being silenced. Well, he guessed the shoe was on the other foot now. He folded his arms and went quiet. It was only a couple minutes later that the fire alarm sounded, Bravo 128 was informed of the situation before heading out, and the camera cut. Next scene the camera crew and firemen were driving to the destination, ignorant of the no-doubt looming peril. Disgruntled residents were flooding the downstairs lobby; Bruce wanted to make a comment about human nature leading to non-logic when presented with danger, but held his tongue.

Finally the police and firemen headed upstairs to investigate the reports of screaming. _‘We’re in front of the door where an elderly resident has had some kind of problem. The neighbors heard screams,’_ Angela reported. Bruce felt a nervousness settle in his gut when the camera focused on the pale figure of an old woman down the dark hall. This was it. She was going to attack. The teenager steeled himself. The emergency response got closer to assist, told reporters to turn off the camera… she wasn’t attacking. Pablo placed the video camera on the floor. He couldn’t have actually predicted the sequence of events wrong, could he? He looked over to Tony, whose eyes were riveted on the screen in front of them.

“The Hell’s wrong with her? She looks feral or something,” Tony commented rhetorically.

“The movie description said ‘ravenous zombies’,” he said.

“She’s not acting like a zombie,” Tony argued, “No walking zombie, running zombie, or even cheesy 1950’s zombie that I’ve seen acts like that. She’s acting like a cornered animal. See how panicked she is? Zombies have no sense of self preservation other than to eat.”

“Maybe she saw one of the zombies and she’s in shock?” Bruce hypothesized, trying to make sense of it. After all, that would explain the screaming-- she was probably lucky to be alive.

“Well I _guess_ that’s a viable-- No, no she’s biting him! She’s biting him! OH SHIT!” Tony cried out, clutching Bruce’s arm and pointing the the television screen, as if his friend had been looking anywhere else.

Bruce’s eyes bugged out in alarm as struggling and shouting ensued on-screen, naturally pressing back in his seat.

The firemen and uninjured policeman pulled the old woman off of his partner; the wound on his neck was deep, bleeding profusely. It was clear he wouldn’t last long without medical attention. “Shit’s getting real,” Tony remarked in a somewhat even voice. They rushed the man downstairs into the lobby, leaving one fireman behind to keep an eye on the old woman. It was there that they learned that the entire building was being sealed and nobody was allowed to leave.

_‘The health authorities have decided to seal off the building for safety reasons. We’re working to get you out as soon as possible. We ask for your cooperation. The agents that are with you will keep you posted on what to do. Follow their instructions and remain calm.’_ The loudspeaker made a static-y noise as it was cut outside.

“That’s comforting,” Bruce grit out sarcastically.

“And now society as we know it begins to break down,” Tony sighed out as people began to shout over each other. Not to mention the last cop standing seemed more interested in harassing the cameraman to get him to stop recording than keeping the peace. Tony snorted, “I don’t understand why it matters. They just saw someone try to eat someone else. Let the guy film. As long as he has that heavy-ass camera, you have someone to trip and distract the feral-zombie-people while you run away.”

“I think he’s thinking more long-term than that,” Bruce spoke up now that the silence had been broken, “Imagine how much more panic there would be throughout the entire city if the broadcast was released to the public prematurely before they knew what was going on.” It was a level-headed decision in an intense situation.

“I suppose, but who the fuck prioritizes PR over the immediate safety of the citizens you’ve sworn to protect? Remember that bath salts fiasco a while back? Nobody’s rioting in the streets are they?” Tony explained, eyes widening as he snapped his fingers, “Bath salts! Maybe it’s bath salts!”

Bruce just shook his head at this tangent. “If you want to debate who should be thinking about the safety of the people in immediate danger, _including_ the police and firemen, you should turn an eye towards those health authorities-- they pulled the trigger on quarantining an apartment complex with people _still inside it_.”

“Well, it sounds like they’re all in the same boat then. Better keep a detailed record of the injustices being dealt here, both to the public servicemen and private citizens. Now does anybody happen to have a tape recorder on them? Or a blog or something? No? How about a camera? Oh hey, look at that,” Tony countered smugly.

Bruce was just about to respond to that statement when a body dropped from the stairwell and hit the floor of the lobby. He jumped. “Is that…??” he began, thinking he might recognize the reflective coat on the man.

Tony didn’t respond immediately, clutching the throw pillow tight to his chest. He didn’t even remember grabbing a throw pillow, “Yes.”

This didn’t bode well for the protagonists. If they kept losing people trained to handle dangerous situations they were really screwed. “Wait… are they going back up there??” Bruce stated incredulously as they began to ascend the staircase toward the room again.

“Of course they are,” Tony grumbled, rolling his eyes, “fucking morons…”

The two boys sat on the edge of their seats as Angela and Pablo entered the hall, breathing heavily. _‘What are you doing here?’_ the remaining fireman caught up with them. Before they had time to respond, the old woman came around the corner and charged them, teeth bared. The fireman fired three shots from his pistol, dropping her. No more messing around, apparently.

“Well they got her…” Bruce said with a touch of uncertainty.

“He didn’t shoot her in the head. She’s coming back,” Tony responded, “And everyone she bit. That’s how zombies work.”

“You said these weren’t zombies,” Bruce said exasperatedly.

“Well I don’t know what they are. They don’t act like zombies, but this is way too early in the movie for these guys to be safe. So either Old Lady is still alive, everyone she bit is gonna come back and try to eat everybody, or there are more of these feral-cannibal-bath salt-murderers in the apartment somewhere. Or maybe all of the above.”

Bruce set his jaw. “I want to know what made her that way. There has to be an explanation-- one that doesn’t involve bath salts,” he added wryly, in case the other teen tried to advocate his theory further.

The protagonists seemed similarly inclined. Angela began reporting on the situation again; apparently it was 2AM in the movie, and a ‘BNC protocol’ had been declared.

“I’m guessing ‘Biological’,” Bruce guessed from the three options. “‘Nuclear’ seems pretty far-fetched, especially set in Spain, and ‘Chemical’?” he shook his head.

“Chemical is still a possibility. Old Lady could just be tripping balls,” Tony argued.

“I guess we’ll know if the wounded change.” The medical intern was attending to them at present. He could easily be next.

“I’m starting to wonder if we’d function well in a zombie apocalypse, or if people would get sick of hearing us talk and leave us behind,” Tony joked.

“I’d really rather not know the answer to that,” Bruce said stonily. He didn’t have a high tolerance for ordinary stressful situations, let alone full-blown crises. Meanwhile Angela was interviewing residents now-- no one seemed to know anything conclusive. She even interviewed a seven year old girl by the name of Jennifer, who was sick with tonsillitis.

“That isn’t tonsillitis,” Tony argued with the film directly, “Nope. She’s too cute. She’s going to start bleeding from the eyes or something halfway through the movie and start biting everyone. Patient Zero right there.”

“You think so?” Bruce asked, still trying to employ his deductive reasoning skills. “If that were the case, wouldn’t she have turned first, _before_ the Old Lady?”

“Yeah okay, maybe not, but I still say she’s gonna turn,” Tony conceded the point, but didn’t back down completely, “It’s a tired trope, but it works in this kind of movie.”

A health inspector had shown up on the scene, dressed in a full biohazard suit, and was taking blood samples from everyone. Including the two injured servicemen. As a precaution, both men were cuffed-- it was good to know _someone_ in this movie was being careful.

Not a moment later the policeman began thrashing wildly on the table, trying to bite the people nearest. Everyone was in such a rush to leave the room that one person-- specifically the medical intern-- got left behind and there was no way of telling if he’d already been bit.

_‘It spreads through saliva. We can’t risk letting him out.’_ the health inspector explained.

“I guess that answers that,” Bruce muttered.

“Yeah, or he could be bullshitting them. I mean if they already shut them all in the building and told network news that the building had been evacuated…” Tony grumbled.

That was a grim possibility; Bruce nodded. Then the information came out that a sick dog at the vet had gotten so aggressive it had to be tranquilized and put down, and it just so happened to be the seven year old’s dog.

The protagonists rushed out to Jennifer and her mother with an injection. “Here it cooomes…!” Tony warned, gesturing at the TV. They were just about to administer the shot when the little girl sunk her teeth into her own mother’s face. “Ohh, called it!” Tony continued. Bruce grimaced, turning his head away somewhat-- though curiosity kept one eye glued to the screen. What was worse than the additional casualty was the fact that the girl was now on the loose in the apartment complex. The mother struggled with her daughter’s pursuers, and they ended up having to handcuff her to the handrail of the main staircase to keep her from interfering. Kind of lucky they had so many pairs of handcuffs.

Pablo the cameraman followed, helping the cop and the fireman search for the girl who had run off. Eventually stumbling upon her, the cop attempted to peacefully approach her and administer the injection, only to be attacked the moment he turned his head to relay an order to the fireman. That Bruce had been expecting. The cameraman and the fireman fled, only to run right into the old woman again. That Bruce hadn’t been expecting; he jumped in his seat again.

“Fuck fuck fuck! Run the other w--” Tony started to shout at the screen, but felt rather embarrassed when he saw the fireman take her down with a sledgehammer to the face, “Well I’m still right. She came back.”

The action didn’t stop there; Bruce couldn’t find time to respond. Downstairs, the shutters that had been locked to keep the bitten intern inside were being pulled up… they were escaping! The handcuffed mother begged to be set free, but there wasn’t time. Angela, Pablo and the last fireman raced the only direction they could-- up.

“Number one rule when you’re being chased: Never run upstairs,” Tony groaned, “They’re at least six kinds of fucked right now.”

“I thought Rule 1 was Cardio?”

“Very funny,” Tony rolled his eyes, “If you’re running the wrong way it really doesn’t matt-- AAH FUCKING SHIT!” He flinched as another one of them jumped out to attack the three on the stairwell, his spasm sending the throw pillow flying to whereabouts unknown, “Fucking jump-scares… The Hell am I supposed to grab onto now?”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Bruce warned. He was beginning to wonder if it was even possible that the protagonists they’d been following since the beginning of the movie would survive. Their only hope was locating a key to unlock the reinforced door in the workshop basement, which was allegedly stored in the intern’s apartment. “Why didn’t they think of this earlier, when the intern _wasn’t_ a flesh-hungry zombie?” Bruce asked, though he was clearly on edge from the events taking place.

“There wouldn’t be a horror movie if everyone wasn’t panicky, bumbling or short-sighted,” Tony groaned, sounding as unhappy with the truth of the answer as Bruce had been with the question.

“Plot device. Got it,” Bruce said somberly as Pablo set the camera down to help the fireman choke out a zombie chick after dragging it off of the reporter.

“I swear to God if they pull another jump-scare…”

“You’ll jump?” Bruce egged, finishing Tony’s statement.

_‘She bit me! She bit me!’_ Angela was screaming and sobbing now. Obviously the stress of the situation was getting to her. And who could blame her?

_‘No, you didn’t. I saw it. You didn’t,’_ Pablo argued with her.

“Jump-scares are cheap. That’s all I’m saying,” Tony shot back at his friend, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture, narrowing his eyes as he continued, “And don’t act like you didn’t jump too.”

“I didn’t act like I didn’t,” Bruce contested.

“It would have been stupid to. I’m pretty sure we shifted the couch back a few inches last time.”

_‘I got bitten!!’_ the woman screamed in near hysterics. Though currently the two boys seemed more invested in their own argument than the one playing out on-screen.

“That was you, not me,” Bruce said, pretty sure he hadn’t jumped half as hard as Tony had.

“Bruce, there is _no way_ that was all me. Get serious.”

“I can sit over on the armchair and prove it to you.” He began to stand; Tony latched onto his arm.

“N-no, it’s fine.” Tony muttered, not letting go.

Bruce gave a chuckle, relenting on his bluff, but it didn’t take long for anxiousness to settle back in. Angela and Pablo had lost the last serviceman… “It’s just the two of them now, isn’t it?” he asked, finding he really didn’t mind the physical contact now; he pushed a little closer to Tony.

“Yeah. I’m not holding my breath for these guys though.” Tony scoffed, though his tightening grip on Bruce’s arm betrayed otherwise.

They’d managed to find the ring of keys, but had been forced up into the penthouse. There they were met with something entirely unexpected-- the walls were covered in newspaper articles, laboratory and medical equipment haphazardly riddled every horizontal surface. Angela began to read from them, _‘The Vatican is investigating the possible possession of a Portuguese girl.’_

“Possession? _That’s_ what all of this is about??” Bruce blinked at the twist.

“You think it’s a red herring? I mean this doesn’t exactly look like a ‘place of worship’. Pretty sure I saw a syringe and some medical equipment back there.”

“What about that?” Bruce asked when Pablo panned the camera over to a portrait of the Virgin Mary. He wasn’t one for supernatural explanations, but cinema rarely put much stock in reality.

“Crazed doomsday zombie virus scientist guy who _happens_ to be religious?” Tony tried, “I mean, how does one get ‘Night of the Living Dead’ from ‘The Exorcist’?”

Bruce shook his head. The characters had found an audio recording now. Apparently the man renting the penthouse was operating under orders from the Vatican, experimenting on the Portuguese girl from the newspaper clippings and trying to either exorcise her, or develop some sort of alchemic cure for demonic possession in general based on her blood. It wasn’t made very clear what had happened, but it was made abundantly more clear that the two survivors were probably in the worst room in the whole building, and that just made the two teens watching even more jittery. They’d both gone dead silent, pressed against one another, eyes glued.

_‘The telegram from Rome has arrived. The girl must die. I must eliminate her and all signs of her existence. Finally my prayers have been answered. This decision should have been made years ago. The ritual is very specific. If anything goes wrong, may God help us,’_ the recording finished off. Yeah, something had gone wrong alright.

Pablo found a door in the ceiling leading to the attic. _‘I’m going to look; there might be a way out through the attic.’_ he said bravely.

Bruce chewed his thumbnail as Pablo lifted the video camera into the attic to slowly turn it 360°. Just when everything seemed all-clear, a pale creature struck out at the device, casting the scene into complete and total darkness.

As well as Tony’s living room-- no illumination came from the flatscreen TV, only the sounds of the survivors struggling. Bruce wrenched the body next to him into a tight hug, squeezing for dear-life.

Tony nearly shoved the other teen away on instinct until he realized who it was. Then he was just grateful for the comfort. His pulse was pounding, and his skin was crawling. He _might_ have pulled Bruce a little closer, not that he’d ever admit it to anyone.

_‘The fucking light broke!’_

_‘Turn it on, Pablo!’_

_‘I can’t, it’s busted!’_

Finally there was a picture again; the cameraman had enabled night-vision, but it meant only he could see. He’d have to direct Angela.

_‘Get behind me and don’t let go. We’ll be okay. We’re going to get out.’_

Bruce’s grip laxed, but only slightly. Don’t let go. Don’t let go. Relax, but don’t let go.

_‘There’s something. Go back. Don’t make a sound. Get down.’_ The girl was hyperventilating.

“You’ll never win a Peabody Award at this rate, Angie. Just look at you.” At this point it was obvious Tony was using humor to diffuse his anxiety, but it didn’t seem to be helping much, “Th-the girl’s practically a _puddle_ , Bruce.”

“W-what?” Bruce croaked; it would’ve been the perfect opportunity to point out the irony of the other boy’s statement, had he heard it. A sickeningly-thin woman had stepped out of the shadows and was moving around. What clothing she was wearing was filthy and dangling off of her.

“The fuck _is_ that?”

“I think it’s the girl from the newspaper clippings…” Bruce whispered back, “but she’s… she’s older now.”

“That’s a girl?!” Tony nearly squeaked, taking in the image of the hunched, wraith-like woman, “How long was she locked up there?!”

Bruce was more concerned on how the duo was going to get out now that they were practically cornered by the thing.

_‘It can’t see us. If we don’t make any noise, it won’t be able to find us.’_

The two of them attempted to creep around it. The tactic was working. Bruce and Tony held their breaths, as if they were in Angela and Pablo’s places.

The loud clatter of a metal tray hitting the floor erupted from the surround-sound speakers behind them and both boys nearly launched from their seats in terror. _‘Run!!’_ Pablo yelled as the camera fell to the floor. The temptation to scramble for the remote on the coffee table in front of them was finally too much. They groped for it at the exact same time, and in so doing, knocked it off the edge furthest from them, enticing greater panic.

_‘Pablo…!’_ Angela whimpered from underneath the bed she’d crawled under with the video camera, her face soaked with tears.

Wasting no time, Tony dove onto the coffee table in a desperate but heroic bid to retrieve the dropped remote control on the other side and save them both from whatever was next. “Tony, don’t--!” Bruce began, reaching out to grab the other teen by the ankles and pull him back to the safety of the couch. Tony kicked and gave a cry of dismay as Angela let out a scream and was drug out of view by her feet.

And then the credits rolled.

The two didn’t say anything at all for a while, just allowing the credits to roll in absence of their commentary. Tony was the first to break the silence with an eloquent, “What… the fuck?”

Bruce cleared his throat, quickly becoming embarrassed. “Y-yeah. That was… um…”

“This never leaves this room,” Tony got out, albeit shakily, “And if anyone asks, we handled it like complete bad-asses.”

Bruce wasn’t normally one for dishonesty, but he nodded firmly, agreeing to the terms set forth. “Yeah, okay. That sounds good.” He got up to remove the disc from the player.

A _WHUMP!_ echoed through the house.

“Okay what was that?” Tony flinched and whipped his head around to glare at Bruce, “Tell me you heard that.”

The big guy bit his lip. “Yeah. Sounded like it came from the hall.”

“We’re the only ones here, right?”

“You’re asking _me?_ ”

“Shit, yeah, sorry. Nevermind...” Tony mumbled in embarrassment. In his panic he’d gotten confused.

“You locked the door after the last Trick-or-Treater, right?” Bruce asked. It was possible a cat or some other animal had gotten into the house if not.

“Weren’t you the last one to answer the door?” Tony countered. It had been over an hour ago, and he couldn’t quite remember.

The teen shook his head. There was distinct slow shuffling… feet dragging over hardwood floor. Whatever it was, it was bipedal. Quarrelling wasn’t going to fix this. “We have to go look,” he said.

“Bruce, that’s stupid.” Tony groaned, “Have horror movies taught you nothing?”

“We’re not living in a horror movie,” Bruce reasoned.

Tony wrung his hands nervously as if debating a course of action. He took a deep breath and stood up, grabbing his phone and lighting up the screen, “Fine, but I’ll go. You stay here. I can navigate this place with my eyes closed.”

“Are you sure?” Bruce asked, as if there were some reason Tony shouldn’t be sure.

“Yeah, if I call for you then just come running in all crouching-tiger-hidden-dragon, or whatever.” The big guy nodded and Tony set off.

The sound was closer now. Tony could hear shuffling, drawers opening and slamming shut, and the clanging of various objects. He swallowed, steeling his nerves and pressing on towards the noise. He panned the next room with the light from the phone, cursing silently when the screen shut off after fifteen seconds of no input. He fumbled with it briefly to turn it on. By the sounds of it, whatever or whoever was in this house with them was only a few feet away. The screen flashed back on, casting Tony’s face in an eerie glow, and he quickly turned it about-face, illuminating the figure mere inches away from him.

There was only one scream, and it cut off very quickly. Bruce heard it, but he was pinned down by fear. There was another stretch of silence. “Tony??” he called out trepidatiously.

The silence persisted, before giving way to slowly approaching footsteps. Bruce waited on-edge to see if it was his friend or whatever had gotten him.

“Yeah, uhhh… That was my dad. He says our screaming woke him up and he came down to fix a bowl of cereal,” Tony ruffled his hair shyly, “He also said we should probably stick to romantic comedies.”

Bruce couldn’t decide if he was more ashamed or relieved. He let out a breathy sigh. He’d have to apologize to Mr. Stark at some point for waking him.

“I totally forgot he was coming home tonight. I guess he came in through the garage during one of the movies, and we just… tuned out the noise.”

“I guess so,” Bruce nodded. He looked at his watch, lighting up the display. 11:32. He should probably think about calling his mom to have her pick him up soon. He was just about to make comment on that fact when another sound reached their ears.

A light thumping above them… Mr. Stark hadn’t gone back upstairs yet.

“Okay, I’m gonna say squirrels,” Tony muttered, “really heavy squirrels, because after tonight I just _can’t_.”

“Don’t rodents ‘scratch’, not ‘thump’?” Bruce brought into question.

“Maybe they’re moshing? I don’t know!” Tony threw his arms up. Bruce’s mouth pulled into a line; he stood from the couch. “Where are you going?” Tony asked abruptly.

“To check,” Bruce said as if it were obvious. “You guys have an attic?”

Tony nibbled his lip thoughtfully. There were quite a few personal things up there, things he wasn’t sure he wanted Bruce to see. “Yeah, but… Well, if you’re going up there, just peek in and get back here.”

“Alright,” he confirmed, heading in the direction of the staircase.

“Be careful, then. We only have like, one lightbulb up there,” Tony warned, listening to the sound of his friend ascending the steps one by one. Maybe he should’ve gone with. He shifted around in his seat. Had the thumping stopped? He sat still, straining his ears. Maybe he should have JARVIS get the downstairs lights...

_DING-DONG!_

“Ahh!” the teen recoiled. “Jesus Christ, what the Hell? It’s almost midnight!” he expostulated aloud. Shaking his head he stood and went to answer the front door.

“IT IS I! THOR, SON OF ODIN!!”

Tony leaped backwards a good foot and a half, “What the fuck, dude!”

“Apologies! I did not mean to incite fearful response,” Theodore replied hastily, holding up free hand defensively, “I was simply passing through the kingdom when I happened across--”

“I wasn’t scared,” Tony replied in obvious denial, “I just-- what the Hell is Hawkbutt doing here?” He detoured when he saw the aforementioned teen dangling from the football player’s grasp by his shirt collar.

“It’s Hawk _eye_ ,” Clint corrected grumpily, arms folded across his chest.

“I know. I just don’t care,” Tony assured the school’s champion archer. Shouldn’t his dominatrix Natasha have been keeping him out of trouble?

“Ah, yes, Master Stark. The answer was forthcoming, had you not interrupted my tale. I had just finished collecting brother Lucas after reports of his mischief in a nearby kingdom had reached ear. I was transporting him home when my eyes fell upon this hooligan partaking in similar mischief. I thought to detain him and inform you immediately.” Thor beamed proudly as he finished.

“It’s just toilet paper, geez!” Clint argued as he tried to wriggle free for what was likely the tenth time.

“You TP’d my house?” Tony asked dangerously, narrowing his eyes. “You know what? Forget it. It’s late and I don’t really have the brain for this,” the teen waved his hands dismissively. “Thanks a bunch Thor, but can we pick this up sometime after noon tomorrow?” He leaned back and behind the doorway for a moment, bringing back what was left of the candy bowl and handing it to Theodore, “Here, a ‘token of my gratitude’.”

“Aw man, don’t I get anything?” Clint whined. It looked even more pathetic since his feet weren’t even touching the ground.

“Will it make you leave faster?” Tony asked, earning a silent nod from the archer, “Fine, take it up with Thor. Goodnight.” He groaned shutting the door and locking it, “People in this fucking town, I swear.”

He turned around to find himself face to face with Bruce, “Ah! Jesus Christ, don’t do that!”

“Sorry,” Bruce cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. “I heard the doorbell ring so I came back down.”

“Sorry, I think I’m just psyching myself out,” Tony panted out, “I don’t know if I can handle another scare tonight, man. Was the attic clear?”

“I didn’t see anything, but the thumping was louder. Sounded like it was on the outside, on the roof,” Bruce detailed what he found out.

“Pretty sure that was Clint TP-ing the house. False alarm. JARVIS, lights.” Tony let out an exasperated huff of air, falling back onto the couch, “You know what though? It’s still kind of bothering me.”

Bruce glanced over at him. “What is?”

“I just really don’t understand what the point of that whole movie was. Like, seriously what were they trying to do with it? I mean, I get it’s clever and edgy and all having everyone die at the end, and you don’t expect it, but what was the point of the entire movie if they don’t get out or find any real answers? Just an hour and a half of jump-scares and anxiety?”

“Shaggy dog horror film,” Bruce muttered, sitting back down next to his friend.

Tony raised an eyebrow, not recognizing the term, “Shag-a-what?”

“Shaggy dog,” Bruce repeated, “It’s just a long story with a bunch of irrelevant incidents that ultimately ends in anti-climax. The point is that there is no point.”

“So like, an allegory for the human life? Do all, see all, face all, accomplish nothing? That’s depressing as Hell.”

“Well, as aggravating as it may be, not everything needs to have a point. Not everything does. Did tonight have a point? Not really, but I think we had a good time.”

Tony nodded, “I guess that’s true. And I’m glad I didn’t have to ask whether you had a good time or not.” he replied, patting his friend on the back.

Bruce felt his eyes avert self-consciously. “I… yeah, I did,” he confirmed. His mom had predicted it after all. “I should probably be getting back but, um, did you want me to help clean up anything?” he offered, glancing about the room.

Tony chuckled, “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll get it tomorrow in the morning. It’s a little late for your mom to come pick you up, though. You want me to drive you home?”

Bruce gave him an up-and-down look of askance. “In your pajamas?”

Tony shrugged, "I’ll put a coat on."


	44. Chapter 44

Pepper arrived on campus at a punctual 8:06 AM. It was nineteen minutes ‘til homeroom, which gave her plenty of time to get organized for the school day ahead. The rest of the student body would trickle in over the next several minutes, most sluggish from one last late night or grumpy that their three-week vacation had finally come to an end, but she was pert and alert. She dialed in her locker combo and removed her Government textbook. A double _clack-thump, clack-thump_ made her glance up.

Clint Barton was making his way down the hall, and he was on crutches, right leg in a cast and wearing a neck brace.

“You know if you don’t slow down you’re going to re-break that leg,” Natasha chastised, grabbing him by the shirt collar.

“Knock it off, Nat,” Clint swat her hand away, almost losing the crutch under his right armpit doing so. He groused, feathers very obviously ruffled. “It doesn’t even hurt!”

“Oh, that’s good,” she feigned sweetness before cocking an eyebrow cruelly, “I got enough of your _crying_ while I was dragging your crippled ass back up to the lodge.”

“I was _not!!_ ” Clint blurted, mortified. “That is so not what happened. At all.”

Pepper coughed into her fist to keep from laughing. “The lodge?” she directed the question toward the other redhead.

“Snowboarding accident,” Natasha explained, folding her arms. “Idiot was playing daredevil and vaulting off of everything.”

“Got video footage of the whole thing too,” Barton was grinning now. “It was _siiick!_ Serious, check my Youtube channel. I’ve gotten 10,000 hits since I uploaded it.” Pepper only gave him a skeptical look.

“If he hadn’t broken his leg they would have had us banned from the mountain for improper use of facilities,” Romanov went on.

“Not the only way we used the facilities ‘improperly’,” Clint cawed like a cockatoo.

The girl silenced him with a glare. “It was horrible. What a way to spend the end of winter vacation.”

“Aw, c’mon, Nat, it wasn’t so bad,” the boy sensed his opportunity to get back at her. “Sipping hot chocolate in front of the fire all wrapped up in that alpaca wool blanket, you bringing me hot soup... telling me I was gonna be ‘okay’... running your fingers through my hair...” He flashed her a love-struck smile.

“Oh yes, I remember all of that. Two hours snowboarding and three days babysitting a bedridden man-child. Babysitting which he’s apparently ‘too cool for’ in public.”

“Chill _out_ , babe!” Clint rolled his eyes, which was made all the more ridiculous by the brace keeping his neck in place.

“Me?” Natasha glared back incredulously, “I’m sorry, but I’m not the thin-skinned one. You need to stop projecting your flaws onto me.” She scoffed, “And quit it with the puppy eyes; as if you weren’t needy enough on bedrest.”

Pepper shook her head and turned away to leave them to their bickering. As she approached the door to her homeroom, Phil Coulson went bounding by, almost stepping on her toes. “Sorry, Pepper!” he called back at her, dashing for the mini store.

“Make haste, Son of Coul! We shall not make much in way of progress if we are left with neither sustenance nor thine eye for aesthetics!” Theodore shouted after the retreating boy, following it with a merry laugh. He and Steve Rogers were sitting with their backs against the wall, the latter with a sketchbook and pencil propped on his knee. Pepper paused to see what they were doing. “No, no, much bigger, Friend Steve!” Thor motioned his hands out from either side of his head.

The second blond turned his pencil around to erase the horns currently on the Bilgesnipe’s skull. He sketched a few uncertain new lines. “Uh... like that?”

“Ha ha! As if from Glendale’s very nightmares, the beast takes shape!” Theodore raved triumphantly.

“Ugh, what _is_ that?” Pepper made a disgusted face at the grotesque creature coming to life on the page with every stroke of Steve’s pencil.

“We’re revamping the mascot,” Rogers explained. “The other one was kind of ‘cartoon-y’.”

“Well, it’s certainly hideous,” she commented.

Thor smiled proudly, “I possess a bountiful imagination, but I fail in my ability to translate such things to paper by way of hand.”

“Don’t say that,” Steve chastised. “You’re really good; you just need to practice. The school is offering art as an elective this semester; you should enroll,” he encouraged.

Phil came running back. “Got it!” he grinned, handing off a cereal bar to Steve, along with a chocolate milk for both boys. “How’s it coming?” he asked eagerly, sitting back down on the other side of Steve and peering over as he unwrapped his bar. “Oh wow, that’s going to look great on the flyer!”

“It shall be a glory to behold!” Theodore boasted, tearing open the tiny paper carton.

“Oh right. I almost forgot.” Phil slipped a hand into his bag and pulled out a silver foil pouch, tossing it to a wide-eyed Thor, “Catch!”

The flaxen-haired boy caught the package with ease, and immediately looked like he was about to cry, “Son of Coul... you have bestowed upon me... p-pop tarts...”

“You’re welcome,” Phil pat him on the back.

“And of the s’more variety... You are aware of my preference?”

“Yes. Now focus. Homeroom’s coming soon and we need to get a sketch done so I can do the formatting this afternoon,” Phil griped, but the upturn of his lips was fairly obvious.

Was it just her or were those two getting along better than they had been in the past? Coulson was right: it was nearly that time. Pepper stepped through the door to her homeroom.

“Pepper,” A voice stopped her as the door swung open and closed behind the speaker. Natasha again. Minus the needy boyfriend. The dark redhead’s gaze was firm but not exactly threatening, “You’re still keeping up your end of the bargain.” It was somewhere between a question and a demand.

“Of course,” the strawberry blonde responded tritely, almost a little incensed at the accusation that she would have reneged on the deal the two of them had made at the New Years party. “All you need is a stronger story than Christine Everhart’s and you’ll be back on as a columnist.”

“And I’m guessing I’ll have to dig that one up on my own time,” Romanov folded her arms.

“Not exactly,” Pepper’s thin lips twisted and she plucked a manilla file folder out from under her Government textbook to place it in Natasha’s hands.

Natasha turned the folder over in her hands, eyeing it curiously, opening it to view its contents. Her eyes widened as she scanned the pages before she slapped it shut. “Okay, what’s the catch? You don’t just drop this kind of gossip in someone’s lap without _some_ kind of condition.”

“No catch. Christine’s been the ‘top-journalist’ for the last two quarters writing junk articles about ‘Cheerleading Feeding into the Patriarchy’ and ‘Rising Sexual Promiscuity in Westmore Attendees’. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she _almost_ managed to pass an article about Happy’s proposal through to print.” Pepper exhaled through her nose, “I know exactly what she’s trying to do, and I tried playing the pacifist, but now I just want to see her wet herself when someone else beats her out for this exclusive.” Pepper’s voice lowered, green eyes narrowing, “Make her suck it.”

“I thought you weren’t the vindictive type...” Natasha said, the upturn of her lips implying that she didn’t exactly disapprove of this break in character.

“Only when it comes to exes,” Pepper folded her arms.

“Ah. I guess that’s lucky for Tony,” Natasha remarked smugly, tucking the folder under her arm and opening the door. She uttered a brief thanks and left as stealthily as she’d come. 

Yes, very lucky for Tony. Except, Happy was the more prominent ex of the two of them currently, since... Wait, where _was_ Tony anyway?? She’d bumped into basically everyone else on her way in. Pepper’s gaze fell to the empty seat beside her where Bruce Banner was always seated prior to her arrival, and then she put two-and-two together.

\--

“I told you we had to be quick...” Bruce breathed out in an almost admonishing tone, his hips snapping quickly against his friend’s backside.

“No, really?” Tony replied over his shoulder. He was partially bent over, left forearm propped on the metal stall wall, his other hand busy on his erection, his jeans and boxers somewhere down around his knees. “And I’m working on it, alright?” He reached unsteadily for the toilet paper dispenser, pulling several squares off the roll before yanking at the perforation. “I’m just--” his voice stuttered, back arching, “oh God yeah, _there_...” he encouraged throatily.

Bruce quickly fixed his glasses and exhaled, keeping up the desired pace and angle. In truth, he needed this. If he didn’t get Tony out of his system now, there was no way he was going to be able to concentrate during class, or at JC later. But he wasn’t telling Tony that.

Tony hadn’t really expected this when he’d first bumped into Bruce in the parking lot. Sure, it was obvious that they’d missed each other (they’d both shown up at least thirty minutes before the doors actually opened), but he didn’t think that they’d be getting back into... sex this quickly. He’d made a completely harmless remark outside the bathroom door about how he’d had Pepper in that bathroom once, and before he knew it Bruce was shoving him inside and tugging at his clothes. It was a wonder his jeans weren’t torn in half. Also good that chapstick made for excellent impromptu lube and that he’d had the foresight to tuck a new condom into his wallet.

Still, there was something undeniably thrilling about the rushed, frantic nature of this particular encounter. The thought that they could be caught by anyone at any second, that they knew what they were doing could get them in serious trouble, and that they only cared enough to avoid getting caught. It was a rush like no other.

Sure, he’d had sex in public places before (his playboy reputation wasn’t there because he had a good PR guy), but it had always been with girls who had the same kind of daredevil spark he did. Hell, Christine Everhart had done things with him in places that would have made those radical feminazis she idolized turn in their graves. But Bruce wasn’t one to throw caution to the wind, to risk his position in a brand new school, to risk even worse punishment from his father, just to _fuck him in a fucking high school bathroom stall_. It was beyond a turn-on. Bruce wanted him so bad at that moment he was willing to risk everything for it.

Tony didn’t last much longer after coming to that realization, moaning into the crook of his elbow as he culminated. As great as it felt, he’d rather the whole student body not be aware of the fact. “God damn...” he panted out, “Your turn, big guy.”

Bruce took one of his hands off Tony’s hips to instead spare a moment pawing it dotingly through the other boy’s hair, listening to the way it made him hum in satisfaction. He rolled his hips and soon achieved orgasm himself. Despite his desire to stay lodged in the warmth of his friend and enjoy the afterglow, he pulled out and removed the condom to knot it at the end, glancing peripherally at his watch as he did so-- three minutes. They were cutting it close.

Tony wriggled his underwear and pants back over his ass, tossing the wadded TP into the toilet. “Don’t forget to wash your hands,” he added dryly.

“I was going to anyway,” Bruce returned, adding a light smack to the back of his friend’s head.

“Riiight,” Tony drew out, feigning disbelief.

The other teen shook his head and reached for the twist lock. “Come on.”

“Not yet,” Tony replied, nabbing Bruce’s wrist before he could escape. He pulled him into a fierce kiss.

Bruce’s mouth slackened involuntarily, returning what had been initiated and then some. It was far, _far_ too good to have this back. To have Tony back. He’d missed him more than he knew. Bruce ran his thumb up the other teen’s throat, along his jaw, admiring the patch of hair transitioning between the two. Though he swore he could _hear_ the seconds ticking away in his head as they made-out. He broke away. “Two minutes,” he mumbled.

“It’s just homeroom,” Tony scoffed.

“Doesn’t mean I want to get a tardy for it,” Bruce returned, and he slid the lock open and exited. The other teen’s eyes rolled. Bruce paused in front of the mirror, quickly smoothing out his clothes before pushing on the faucet to rinse his hands under the stream. “We’re gonna have to find a better place to do this, if this is gonna be a regular thing,” he said off-handedly.

“Or,” Tony chimed thoughtfully, “You could join an after school club and just,” he gestured matter-of-factly, “not show up. I bet the Abstinence Club is looking for new members.” He tried not to smirk too hard.

“That would be ironic,” Bruce commented, putting far too much thought into the suggestion. An excuse to stay late meant the two of them wouldn’t be rushed... as long as he didn’t mind a mid-day fix, rather than morning...

“Considering the things Steve and I had the pleasure of discussing on New Years, I’m sure you wouldn’t be the only one breaking their vows. At least, not for long.”

“You seem entirely too pleased about that,” Bruce noticed. Chit-chat and banter would have to wait. He side-stepped in to quickly peck the other boy on the temple affectionately. “See you in English,” he said, hurrying out of the bathroom.

Tony felt his lips turn up as he reached up to touch where Bruce’s lips had been. He was well aware it might be awhile yet before the two of them made this thing between them public knowledge, but for some reason it didn’t fill him with a sense of dread or anything like that. He was actually kind of looking forward to it. (To being able to call Bruce his boyfriend, or give him a passing peck in the hall, etc.) He fucking loved the guy, and he wanted everyone to know it.

He finished washing his own hands and strode out, trying to downplay the amount of I-just-got-laid smugness in his grin.

\--

The students of Westmore High were filed into the auditorium homeroom by homeroom, and already there was a buzzing chatter in the air. Tony and Bruce weren’t the only ones to have noticed the sign out in the parking lot and word was getting around. Everyone seemed to have a conjecture, but no one seemed to actually _know_ what had happened to the old principal or why he was gone (or if they did, they weren’t telling). There was equally little information on who the new guy was.

That said, when a tall, bearded black man in an eyepatch strode onto the stage and behind the podium, all mouths closed. “Good morning, students. I’m your new principal. You can all call me Principal Fury.” The man gave a threatening pause as students began to swap whispers. “For those of you considering asking how I got that name, I would say it’s best you don’t find out.” The room fell silent again.

“And while we’re on the subject of wild speculations, I’m sure everyone wants to know ‘what the deal is with the eye patch’. A good few years ago I used to have a glass eye. Then one of my students said it made me seem more approachable.” A handful of students laughed nervously, unsure whether or not it was to be taken as a joke. “Forgive me,” Fury continued, tone and facial expression unchanging, “I’ve been told my sarcasm is less than transparent.”

The only sound in the auditorium was that of butts shifting anxiously in seats, so the principal went on. “I’ve been warned by the board not to mention your former Principal. I acknowledge that suggestion, but given that it’s stupid-ass suggestion, I’ve elected to ignore it. You seem like a bright bunch, so I’m only gonna say this once: Cressman is none of your business. What your business _is_ is getting an education in four years or less. You been wasting enough tax dollars as is getting to this point.”

“Roughly forty percent of high school graduates in the past five years haven’t gone on to college,” he stated profoundly. He began to slowly pace the stage back and forth, the resounding echo of his boot heels against the floor reaching to the highest seat in the auditorium. “Frankly, I find that disappointing. That doesn’t include the rate of unemployment for high school graduates and dropouts. But nobody gives a fuck about that; Hell, the PTA prolly cares more that the new Principal said ‘fuck’ in the middle of a school assembly.”

Now there were a few genuine laughs from his teenage audience.

A ghost of a smirk briefly passed over his lips before he continued, “I’ll be very clear; I am not here to baby you. I’m here to prepare you for the real world. You been being coddled by the system long enough. What’chu need now is a push. And I intend to supply that push every day from here on out.” He spread his arms out, “I have an idea-- a _belief_ \-- that you all can grow up to become the next generation of remarkable people,” he placed a hand to his own chest, “to make a difference in this world in ways none of my generation could.”

Silence for a moment, before a student somewhere in the middle of the auditorium began to clap. Soon others joined in on the gesture, the volume growing as it spread throughout the student body, a few whoops and chants of “WESTMORE! WESTMORE!” discernible over the rabble. When at last it quieted, Fury resumed.

“That in mind, a few things are gonna be changing around here. Starting with,” he paused, “the removal of the PA system during assemblies. I can talk plenty loud enough for your inattentive young ears to hear, and from what I understand, someone likes misusing them for a few cheap laughs.” His single eye honed in on Tony in the crowd, who was mouthing the word ‘Cheap??’ with an incredulous look on his face, “Stark. I’ve got your detention slip already prepared; why don’t you come down here and get it?”

Well that wasn’t something that Tony had been prepared for. Nevertheless, he was always one to rise to the occasion. His eyes darted over towards Bruce a few seats down, who appeared to be as surprised as he was. He leaned forward and flashed him a thumbs-up before leaving his seat and sauntering up the aisle toward the assembly stage as if he were accepting an award.

Snatching the microphone before Fury could speak, he took the slip and held it to his chest, “Well, I have to say, in spite of already having served my detention for the Pink Floyd incident, I’m truly and deeply flattered. I mean really, it’s an honor just to be nominated.” He could already see Coach Bennett preparing to manhandle him offstage, held in place only by the most intimidating glare he’d ever seen from a one-eyed man. Well, since he was already up shit creek, he might as well paddle downstream. “I didn’t have a list prepared, and gosh, there’s just so many people to thank...”

Bruce pressed his face into a palm-- it was partially a cringe, but he also couldn’t help chuckling under his breath. First day back. Now all he needed was some jocks to try to pick on him and they’d come full-circle to that first detention. The rest of the semester was bound to be entertaining, assuming he could find the time to enjoy it. For now he had to hope Tony wasn’t going to dig his own grave too deep.

“The first person, obviously, is my dad,” Tony said. “He’s not here, but without the old horndog, none of this would even be possible.”

A few rows ahead of Bruce, three chairs to the left, Steve Rogers let out a snort and immediately tried to cover it with a cough. No doubt it wasn’t something the Student Body President wanted to get caught laughing at.

“Secondly, my ex, for always believing in me and telling me I had what it takes to be a massive pain in the ass... figuratively _and_ literally,” he winked slyly. “She’s great; hey, Pep!” Tony waved at her from the podium. The girl bit her thumbnail and slid lower in her seat in hopes of getting out of eyeshot of all the turning heads.

“And... God, who am I forgetting?” Tony stroked the hairs on his chin for effect before slapping his forehead, “Oh yeah! My best friend, Bruce Banner. If his GPA didn’t top mine, I might not feel as much of a need to act out. Thanks, buddy! Love ya!” He blew a kiss his way, causing his audience to snicker and giggle.

“That will be _quite_ enough, Mr. Stark,” Principal Fury stepped in. “But thank you for the comedy interlude. Return to your seat unless you want to be hauled off to it.”

“The escort won’t be necessary,” Tony snarked and got off stage, making his way back. When he caught Bruce’s eyes, the big guy had an eyebrow raised at him in a kind of unplaceable expression. Tony gave him a wink and the other teen just shook his head and returned his attention to the assembly.

\--

The assembly turned out to be the highlight of the day, since the rest of the day was relatively uneventful. When the final bell rang, Bruce followed the crowd to the lockers, spotting Tony a short time after removing the books he needed to complete his homework. Tony would be on his way to serve his detention, and he had to get home to fix dinner before his parents got back from work. Bruce zipped up his backpack and tossed it over a shoulder, catching the other teen’s arm. “Hey. I’ll catch you after JC, okay?”

Tony was glaring at the stack of detention slips on the shelf of his locker as if he’d caught them sniping the last klondike bar out of the freezer. He’d actually been required to go with Fury back to his office so he could write out more of them. A whole _two weeks_ worth of infractions that he was to retroactively serve out just because the old principal had let him get away with shit he shouldn’t’ve. It didn’t really help his case that when Fury dialed the number on file for Howard Stark, Tony’s left pocket started ringing. After confiscating the high schooler’s phone, Fury took it upon himself to reverse-lookup Howard’s contact information, assuring Tony that if anything made him unable to get his father on the phone, he’d be more than happy to stop by their home for a personal visit in regards to his behavior.

“Fucking pompous cyclops bastard,” he grumbled under his breath as he wrestled a three-ring binder, completely missing Bruce’s statement.

“Tony?” Bruce asked, not sure the other teen had heard him.

“Huh?” Tony barely lifted his head, still more than a little preoccupied with the notion that someone actually had the nerve to put him in his place-- _him_ , Tony Stark. “Oh, yeah, sure. See ya.”

Bruce nodded tritely and turned to go. He noticed that a rather steamed-looking Pepper Potts was marching down the hall; he made sure to give her a wide berth.

Tony’s head was still down when she stomped to a halt behind him. She cleared her throat sharply. When he didn’t respond, the redhead reached forward and slammed Tony’s locker door shut, almost catching his fingers in the frame.

Tony yelped in surprise, hopping a half step back and clutching his hand to his chest. “The fuck is your problem, man?!” he shouted, whipping around to face whoever the asshole was who thought it’d be a good idea to--

Oh. Shit...

“Pepper...” he nervously ground out. His throat suddenly felt very dry; he smiled, “H-hey...”

“Thanks for that little ‘shout-out’ this morning,” she said, affixing her green-eyed glare on him.

Tony did the only thing he could manage: ramble. “Oh, uh, you’re welcome. It was a little on-the-spot, so I really didn’t have any time to prepare--”

“No, you want to know what’s ‘on-the-spot’?” Pepper began the moment the words left his mouth, but he kept going.

“...I’m not really big on the whole improv thing, but I’m glad you thought it was--”

Despite his attempts to talk over her, she continued, with greater emphasis, “All the people I’ve had asking me today if what you said was true.”

Tony’s mouth halted for a fraction of a second, then resumed, “It isn’t. That’s what you told them, right? That it isn’t? Because it’s not.”

“ _I_ know it’s not, but that’s not the point, Tony!” her voice was rising.

“People really can’t pick up on my humor as well as I thought...” the boy rubbed his chin. “Do you think I’m too subtle? Note to self: make sure to say ‘just kidding’ next time after the conclusion of a joke.”

Pepper fumed. “I honestly can’t believe you,” she shook her head. How he could be _this_ insensitive was beyond her. How would _he_ like it if she told the entire school assembly that he was being fucked in the ass? (Regardless of the fact that she knew he was, because she’d been there to personally witness it.) So it wasn’t even a proper rumor really. She turned and walked off in a huff.

“Oh come on,” Tony groaned, throwing his hands up in exasperation, “The Hell do you want from me?” Rolling his eyes, he chased after her, “Pep? Pep! C’mon, don’t ignore me!”

On her way to the parking lot, she was intercepted by a gentle hand landing on her shoulder. She swivelled to see Happy in his gear, on the way to after-school practice. He looked genuinely concerned. “Hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” he asked.

“You! You know full-well I don’t want to talk to you right now!” she exclaimed, bordering on shrill as she stepped out of his reach.

“Pep, listen, I’m-- Oh...” Tony started, pausing and clearing his throat when he saw Happy was now involved, “Well, this is awkward.”

“I, uh, what are you talking about?” Happy shook his head. Maybe that had been a concussion last practice after all. “Were you two arguing?”

“Actually, she was shouting at me while I tried to calmly and rationally explain myself,” Tony attempted to answer, “I don’t know if that qualif--”

“No, we were _not_ arguing!” Pepper broke in with a yell, “What do I have to do? Get a ‘cease and desist’ letter? File for a restraining order? Get away from me, _both of you!!_ ”

“Hey, now,” Tony held his hands up, “Isn’t that a little extreme? I mean, the guy was just asking a quest--”

“Don’t! Don’t you _even_ dare!” Pepper thrust her finger into his face. “This conversation is over. And I don’t want to talk to _either_ of you until I decide to forgive your idiocy!” The redhead stomped off, leaving both boys to glance at one another in stupefaction.

“Yeesh, bitches be craaazy,” Clint remarked to Natasha once Pepper had gone out of earshot. “You _see_ that?”

“She sounded perfectly reasonable to me,” Natasha replied, a hint of warning in her tone.

Barton gave a scoff. “Dude, she was flipping her shit. Over what? One little sex joke? C’mooon, Nat.”

“You know how much I value my privacy,” a crimson eyebrow arched over an eye, “And even if it was a joke, I don’t see any good reason to tell the _whole_ school about your private sexploits. Especially when they’re not only your secrets to keep.”

“How do you expect to get any cred if you don’t?” He shrugged a shoulder in Tony’s direction, “I mean, guy’s got a reputation to keep.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, “Well you’ve gotten along fine without sharing, haven’t you?”

For a rare moment, Clint’s beak snapped shut.

The silence was telling. Her voice turned very threatening, giving him the death-glare, “ _Haven’t you??_ ”

Clint swallowed roughly. “Uh... the guys _might_ have seen some of the pictures on my phone... I mean, by _total_ accident,” he stressed.

“Pictures...?” Natasha whispered to herself, wracking her brain for any time in the past four years that she had allowed him to snap a photo of her. Then it hit her. Last summer vacation, he’d been with his parents on a trip to Nebraska. He wouldn’t stop texting her, whining about how bored he was and how much he missed her. Eventually, after all of his incessant prodding, she caved and sent him a few photos to hold him over until he got back. Her eyes narrowed, voice lowering dangerously, “You said you _deleted_ those.”

“Deleted? I meant... um...” the boy stalled for a plausible alternative that never quite came to mind. “Okay, I lied. But seriously, those were like, smokin’ hot. How _could_ I delete them? I mean, Kurt Wagner even said you looked like a sex kitten.” A grin erupted on his face, “So then I told him about Halloween, you know, when you wore the tail and ears to bed? And the claw marks you left on my freakin’ back. Mrrrooow...!” He made a scratching gesture in the air.

Natasha groaned, one hand to her temple, the other up in the universal gesture for ‘stop’, “I am on the verge of hurting you in a very physical way...”

“Tch, you’re not gonna go all ‘Pepper Potts’ on me, are y--” was all Clint got out before she kicked his crutches out from under him and stomped off after the aforementioned girl.

“Ow...” Clint winced from the pavement. “Ow ow ow. I’m fine, no one worry, I’m good,” he assured the staring student body as he attempted to collect his crutches and get back on his feet. “Stay back, I got this. Oww-w-w-w!” he yowled lightly, placing too much weight on his injured leg.

“Aye! That’s the spirit, Eye of the Falcon! Pick thyself up and carry on thine way. Behold: a true Bilgesnipe!” Thor cheered, having witnessed the spectacle mid-journey from his standing educational supply chest to the field for training-- rather, practice. Much like his other fellow students, he took pause to survey from a distance. Steve had referred to it as ‘rubbernecking’, and the Monitor of Halls had added that it ‘decreased the flow of hallway traffic by roughly twenty three point nine percent’.

“It’s _Hawk_ eye,” Barton muttered, getting his arms up and over his crutches.

“Ahh! Memory flees. A most sincere apology, friend Hawkeye.” The blond laughed jovially, slapping him on the back a little too roughly just as he’d managed to steady himself. Clint toppled forward with a shout and face-planted back into the ground.

Tony exhaled heavily. Well, this incident had drawn a crowd fast. Didn’t these people have anywhere to go after school? He shook his head before stalking off. He had a detention to go to. This mess could sort itself out. Maybe. Didn’t matter.

\--

A sigh escaped Tony’s lips as he walked down the steps an hour and a half later. He may not have enjoyed being stuck in detention, but what he was going to do _now_ , stuck without his best friend for the rest of the evening was his best guess. And Pep likely hadn’t forgiven him yet, so that was a bust. Smoke and Iron Man would just have to keep him company tonight, he guessed a little dejectedly.

He’d only gotten down the steps when he heard his title suddenly being bellowed, “Master Stark! The patriotic discus sails to-ward you!” He looked up with just enough time to flinch, yelp, and stop the frisbee from beaning him in the head.

“Hey, what the He--” he began.

“Throw it back and join us, Tony!” Phil urged. He, Steve and Theo were standing out in a loose triangle on the lawn so they could pass it back and forth. Tony glanced down at the frisbee now in his hands; he should’ve known the gaudy, red-white-and-blue disc belonged to the Class President.

Tony eyed the disc in his hand, then the group a few dozen feet away, as if it were all a trap of some sort. He hesitated.

“Just do it, or they’ll never shut up,” a grumble sounded out behind him. Tony turned to regard Clint, seated miserably on one of the outside benches. Poor guy. It was probably killing him not being able to join in while he waited for his ride. Tony exhaled slowly and drew his arm back, before sending the frisbee flying with a snap of his wrist.

Phil leapt up and caught it, giving a grin before tossing it to his idol, who caught it and passed it to Theodore, who threw again Tony’s way, and the cycle continued, occasionally reversing or being thrown diagonally to keep the pace lively. Once in awhile, the frisbee would accidentally get thrown too hard and sail over someone’s head or too far to one side and have to be retrieved, but it was done with laughter.

Tony didn’t even realize he’d been having fun until Steve stopped to eye his watch, “Hey, guys, we should probably go. We have to tidy up that new mascot design and I haven’t even made a dent in my Chemistry homework.”

Thor looked worried at the mention. “I fear I may not be able to complete said assignment unless I can divine the difference between covalent and ironic bonds.”

“Ionic,” Phil corrected. “Don’t worry, we’ll try to explain it to you.” Thor brightened. He turned Tony’s way. “Bye, Tony, we’ll catch you later! It was fun!” he waved.

“Aye, until the ‘morrow!” Theodore added with a hearty nod.

“Wait up!” Tony blurted out after them before he could catch himself. The group paused in their exit and turned their gazes back to Tony. Well, shit, what was he supposed to say now? He cleared his throat, giving his words some thought before he spoke, “You said you had Chemistry homework, right?”

“Are you offering what I think you’re offering?” Steve looked at him askance.

“It’s hardly even a favor really,” Tony stuck his hands in his pockets. “I’m in all AP classes. I could tutor you guys in my sleep.”

Steve shook his head at how transparent Tony was being. Still, it would be bad form to call him out on it, and besides, they could all kind of use the help. His best subjects were Art and American History; everything else took a lot of hard work and dedication. Tony seemed to have a firmer grasp on the math and sciences than any of the three of them did. “So you _are_ offering,” he gave the slightest of smiles and nodded, “Alright then.”

“Well, uhh, while you’re offering things...” Clint piped in afterwards, “I’m... uhh... I’m pretty sure ‘Tasha’s not coming back to pick me up. Sooo... can I have a ride?” He gave a hopeful half-sided grin.

Tony took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, “Fine. But you’re not touching my radio.”

“Suhhh- _weet!_ ” Clint cawed, leaping up onto his crutches. “Shotgun! It’s mine, I called it; you guys were too slow!”

“...I’m pretty sure they’re riding with Thor.” Tony sighed out, rolling his eyes.

“Then we can drag race!” Barton reasoned enthusiastically.

Tony snorted, “Yeah, I’m sure if it weren’t for that broken wing, you’d be on the hood playing ship’s mast.”

“Like in Death Proof? Fuck yeah, man!” Clint exclaimed, “Tarantino is a _God_.”

Tony smiled again, in spite of himself. If he’d known it was this easy time make a few casual high school buddies, he wouldn’t have waited this long. “Just get in the car.”


	45. Chapter 45

Bruce parked his bike on the street, removing his helmet and ruffling his hair back out of its flattened state. He hung it off one of the handlebars and adjusted his glasses to peer down at the watch on his wrist. 10:45. He wet his lips and looked up. From here he could see that the light in Tony’s bedroom was on.

He walked up to the porch and put his knuckles to the door. After a few knocks, the window upstairs opened, and Tony poked his head out, “The Hell?”

Bruce heard him and took a couple steps backward off the porch so he could be in sight of his friend. “Hey, you gonna let me in or what?” he asked, hooking his thumb at the door.

Tony raised an eyebrow, “You didn’t tell me you were coming up.”

“‘I’ll catch you after JC.’ Those were my exact words. I knew you weren’t listening.” Bruce shook his head.

Tony let out a heavy sigh, “Sorry. Long day. I’ll be right down.”

The window drew down and Bruce returned to the porch to wait patiently for the front door to open. He didn’t have to wait long before it swung inward to reveal Tony already in his bedclothes. Bruce took note of his dresswear. “Sorry, I can go if you were about to turn in,” he said-- Tony hadn’t been expecting him; he didn’t want to just barge in.

“No, it’s fine!” Tony interjected. He’d actually been about to text Bruce anyway. It was the first night he was supposed to have his phone back, after all. “Come on in. Just... don’t wake up my dad. I think he fell asleep working again.”

Bruce nodded agreeably and entered, toeing off his sneakers in the entry and shrugging off his backpack and jacket. Tony led the way further in, snagging a san marcos blanket and making a quick detour for his father’s study.

“Be right back,” Tony assured his friend. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Sure,” Bruce moved toward the living room.

The old man was fast asleep over his computer keyboard. Tony rolled his eyes and slid the keyboard out from under his father’s sleeping form, noticing he was also clutching onto the picture of his wife he kept on his desk. He attempted to pry it out of his grasp, but the man’s fingers seemed to tighten with each tug.

“Dad, let go of Mom,” Tony grumbled, giving a few more vain attempts. Howard made a sleepy noise of protest. “Fine,” Tony gave in, afraid if he tried any harder, it would just result in waking the man up. He focused his attention on the lit screen in front of him. There was an email from Principal Fury marked unread, but as tempted as he was, Tony decided neither to read nor delete it. Fury was relentless and it’d only cause bigger headaches in the long run.

The current window, however, was a different email, expanded out. Tony took a moment to highlight and backspace the gibberish of at least fifteen minutes of his father’s face-typing. It looked like a form response to an email from Dr. Erskine, detailing the days in the coming week that he’d be available to discuss the results of Tony’s Holter Monitor testing. Tony frowned slightly when he noticed they were all weekdays before school let out.

Trying not to think about it too deeply, he saved the draft and draped the blanket over Howard’s shoulders, turning off the lights with a scoff on the way out, “Night, Dad.”

Bruce hadn’t gotten far. Tony found him in the living room, still standing. Of course. “So, how was JC?” he asked, gesturing to the sofa so they could both sit down.

The teen shrugged. “Alright. It was a first day; it’ll get better. They mostly went over the syllabii.” He smirked slightly and bumped his friend’s shoulder as they both slumped into the piece of furniture at an amiable distance, “How was detention without me?”

Tony smirked back, “Not quite as entertaining, but after I got out I got to play frisbee with The American Dream Team and give them a chemistry lesson.”

“I would’ve thought you’d sooner lick Fury’s boot,” Bruce looked at his friend over his glasses with subtle amusement upon learning what his friend had done with the rest of his day.

“Bruce, I am a number of things, both amazing and horrible, including but not limited to an overall awesome person to be around, much like this afternoon. One thing I will never be, especially for that one-eyed jackass, is a bootlicker. Besides,” the teen seemed to trail off a moment as he transitioned into sincerity, “they’re not so bad. I even got their cell numbers now,” he pulled out his phone as proof. “Oh, and by the way, Betty was asking about you while you were grounded, you might wanna call her back now that you’ve got your cell back.”

If that wasn’t the truth; they had a lot of catching up to do since Christmas/New Years. “Yeah, I’ll be sure to,” Bruce nodded again with a smile. He relaxed lower into the cushions, propping his hands behind his head and flexing his toes. It felt like a lot longer than a week since he’d been in the Stark household and he was glad to be back. He turned his head to look at Tony. “So, want to do anything?” he asked. Didn’t want to bore the other boy.

“I dunno,” Tony shrugged; he took note of the few inches currently between them and shifted to move closer to the boy next to him, closing the gap. “Did you have anything in mind when you came up?”

“Not so much...” Bruce admitted, scratching the scruff on his neck before cautiously snaking his arm behind Tony’s head and setting it on his shoulders. “Just thought we’d, you know... hang out.”

Tony gave a satisfied hum, resting his head into the big guy’s shoulder. “Works for me.”

“Me too,” Bruce added needlessly, squeezing the other teen to him. He recognized this wasn’t exactly the kind of ‘hanging out’ they’d done in the past. Normally Tony would’ve been scrambling to the game cabinet for Scrabble or Othello. But after their time forced apart, what Bruce wanted most was contact. Not to necessarily _do_ anything. Just be together. He guessed Tony must feel the same. His other hand crept up the boy’s arm nearest him, tilting his head to rest it against his. “I missed you...” he mumbled quietly.

“I missed you too,” Tony sighed out, nuzzling closer to the warmth of his friend. As good as this moment was… a rare affection the big guy wasn’t prone to showing… he couldn’t keep his thoughts off the email left open on his father’s computer. He’d buried the worries of the past week or so in a shallow grave, and the content of that email was threatening to unearth them all over again. He tried to just relax and stop thinking about it, but it just wasn’t happening. He stirred.

The movement caused Bruce to come out of the dozing state he hadn’t even realized he’d fallen into. He chuckled, lifting a hand to knuckle an eye under his glasses, “I’m falling asleep. It’s getting late.”

“Wait!” Tony started, regretting it immediately. Now it sounded like he had something important to talk about.

Bruce gave the other teen a puzzled look. “Wait? I wasn’t going anywhere,” he chuckled again.

“Oh.” Tony’s eyes shot to the floor, “I wasn’t... I mean...”

“Yeah...?” Bruce followed up, sensing his friend was driving at something. Though what he had no clue.

Tony could feel his nerves getting to him. Oh God, was he really going to bring this stuff up now? Without _knowing_ the results, was there even really a _point_ to bringing it up? Maybe he was 100% in the clear. _‘Wishful thinking…’_ Why would all the appointment times be before school if it was a simple matter of ‘I’m happy to report your son has a clean bill of health!’

“Tony?” Bruce leaned forward to eyeball him.

The teen panicked. _‘Find a distraction. Find a distraction now.’_ “Uh, I was just gonna ask...” Tony began, “Didn’t your dad give you a curfew or something?”

His lips pursed distastefully. “Yeah. Eleven o’clock.”

“Oh,” Tony responded, gaze drifting towards the nearest digital timepiece. His eyes widened as he recognized the time, “Bruce, it’s--”

“Eleven fifteen,” the big guy finished for him, not appearing particularly alarmed.

“Shit. I should have kept an eye on the clock.” Tony rose from the couch with a sense of urgency, though he made an attempt to keep his voice calm for Bruce’s sake; he grabbed hold of his arm and tugged. “Look, if you head out now you won’t be _that_ late and--”

“I’ll go when I feel like it,” Bruce said dismissively, setting his jaw and making it clear he wasn’t going to budge from this spot.

Tony froze in his movements, but didn’t answer immediately. Mostly because this behavior was completely contrary to everything he’d seen from the big guy in the past. He worried his lip briefly. “But... your dad...” he began.

“What about him?” the teen got out grumpily, folding his arms. Since when had Tony developed a fondness for sticking to the rules? He wasn’t afraid of his old man. What could the bastard really do? He had to let him go to school and JC and couldn’t force him to come back at a specific time, not without confiscating his bike and ferrying him from place to place himself.

Tony pondered this for a moment. Why was he worrying about this if Bruce wasn’t? Well obviously he didn’t want Bruce to get in trouble, but really, hadn’t he been encouraging this attitude in his friend since the day they’d first started spending time together? Maybe it was about time Bruce started overstepping a few rules here and there. What was the worst that could happen? Bruce would be eighteen soon, Tony even sooner. If shit really got bad in the Banner household, how hard would it be to just get Bruce out of there and run away together? Considering the kind of money and connections his dad had access to, there’d be no issue getting them both into a good college, living on campus, and then into a decent apartment afterwards. Yeah. That was doable. Not to mention it sounded exactly like what he wanted the next few years of his life to be like. By Bruce’s side. His chest stirred at the notion and he plopped back down on the couch next to the other teen, devil-may-care smirk gracing his lips.

“Nothing. Fuck him,” he answered.

Bruce hummed and within the next second, he attacked Tony’s mouth, toppling them both sideways onto the cushions.

“I think...” Tony panted out as he came back up for air, “I’m starting to love it when you break the rules...”

\--

At 11:45 after a lengthy make-out session and a couple of break-neck games of Forza 4, Bruce departed the Stark residence to return home. It was just before midnight when he drove his moped into the garage and walked inside, traipsing carefully so as to not arouse suspicion. With any luck, both his mother and father had gone to sleep before eleven and wouldn’t even know he’d broken his curfew on the very first day back to school.

From the hall he noticed his mother’s reading lamp was on in the living room. A soft curse left his mouth; well, so much for that. It was tempting to sneak down to his bedroom and avoid a potential confrontation, but the thought of doing so nagged his conscience. If his mother was still up at this hour when she had work in the morning, it was likely she was worried about him and wanted to make sure he got home safe and sound before going to bed herself. He couldn’t just keep her up all night worrying. Bruce ventured out to give her a greeting, “Hey, Mom.”

“Your mother is in bed.” The unexpectedly hard voice made his blood temporarily run cold. Brian stood from the couch to give his son an admonishing glare. “As _you_ should be. It’s nearly an hour after your curfew, Bruce.”

The high schooler cleared his throat. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribcage. “There was a wreck on the way back from JC,” he lied, casually turning into the kitchen and opening the fridge to grab the jug of milk as if that were exactly what he’d been aiming to do in the first place. “I’m going right to bed,” he added as he poured himself a glass and tried to hide the telltale quake in his hands.

Brian’s jaw visibly tightened, but he didn’t interrogate him further. “See that you do. You cannot expect to excel in your studies without adequate rest,” he issued before turning to stalk off to the master bedroom.

Bruce let out a sigh, shook his head and drank his milk. In the future he’d have to have better excuses prepared upon arrival. Once he’d rinsed his glass, he proceeded back to his bedroom to retrieve his phone-- it had long gone dead in his dad’s desk, so when he’d gotten it back that morning, he’d had to leave to it to charge while at school. He turned it on, waiting through the boot-up sequence as it found a signal. Half a dozen new message notifications greeted him shortly thereafter.

_‘Hey Bruce. Sorry we didn’t hang out more at the New Years Eve party. It’s coming back in bits and pieces, but apparently I was a bit of a mess near the end. Theodore drunk me under the table. Leonard says I need to stop being so competitive. Anyway, how have you been?’_

Bruce shook his head. To his credit, Leonard was right, but he didn’t know Betty the way he did-- she wasn’t likely to ever lose her competitive streak. He flicked through the next couple of texts.

_‘Okay, I guess you and Tony are busy. That’s fine. Get back to me when you can.’_

_‘Oh and speaking of you and Tony, I hope you two had that talk. Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook.’_

He cleared his throat. Well, a partial talk was better than no talk, right? He hoped she’d feel the same, but he got the inkling she was of an all-or-nothing mentality. He scrolled through the last three.

_‘Tony told me what happened. I know you’re grounded, but I figure you’ll get to read these eventually. Let me know when you get your phone back, okay?’_

_‘Oh my God, are you *still* grounded? Seriously, your dad needs to lay off. Text me when you can.’_

_‘Seriously? Wooow.’_

Bruce chewed his lip, not even sure where to begin. He composed back, _‘Hey. Sorry, just got my cell back this morning. Had to charge it. My dad was pretty firm about making sure I didn’t talk to anyone.’_ He wondered if she’d be up at this hour.

Betty was in her bed in her pajamas re-watching 2001: A Space Odyssey when her phone beeped on her nightstand. She reached over to grab it and gave a “Oh my God, _finally!_ ” at the sender. Pausing the movie, she typed back, _‘It’s fine, just glad you finally got it back. I’m calling you.’_

_‘Sure.’_ Bruce sent back, grabbing his coat back up from where he’d hung it up. He went out the front door, shutting it behind him and took a seat on the porch, phone in hand. It rang and Bruce answered it before the first ring had ended. “Hey.”

“Hey. Sorry for all the texts,” Betty apologized, leaning back against her pillow propped on the headboard once more.

The sound of her voice made him smile. Bruce chuckled. “It’s fine; you were concerned.”

“I was livid,” the girl corrected, not wanting to be misconstrued. “I understand that the car got towed, but taking away your phone? God forbid there’s an emergency and you’re not at home to call out.”

“Yeah, well, I think he accounted for that by not allowing me to leave the house,” Bruce replied dryly. “And he was more angry about the underage drinking, actually,” he pushed the spectacles up on his nose.

She feigned a gasp. “You _drank?_ Oh my God.” He could almost hear Betty roll her eyes on the other side, “So did everyone in a hundred mile radius between fifteen and nineteen. I mean come on, we _did_ go to the same party, didn’t we?”

Bruce’s nose wrinkled. “My dad’s kind of out of touch with the societal norms of our generation. And I… wasn’t exactly in a position to try and explain it to him.” He clicked his tongue twice. “You’re not telling me that your dad knew you were drinking that night?” There was no way Mr. Ross would tolerate his baby girl drinking, that he knew.

“Of course not; don’t be silly,” she drew up the covers a touch. “Daddy was out of town and I slept it off at Leonard’s. Besides, even if our dads were in touch with our generation, they’d probably tell us that that kind of behavior is beneath us.” Betty scoffed, feeling her blood start to simmer again just thinking about it. “You want to know what I think? I think that if your dad thinks it’s sooo important that you’re better than everyone else, he ought to start by treating you that way.”

The boy chuckled at his friend’s rage on his behalf. “Yeah, well, I can’t see _that_ happening any time soon…” Bruce mumbled, thinking on what had just transpired in the kitchen. “I’ve got a curfew. And he was up waiting for me to come home tonight.”

“My God, that’s borderline over-controlling.” She could sense from the tone of the boy’s voice that what they were talking about currently was only bringing him down, so she sought to change the subject. “Hey, guess what I’m watching?”

“Uh… I don’t know,” Bruce blinked, a little thrown off.

“I’ll give you a hint: It was produced in 1968...”

Bruce nibbled his lip but the date wasn’t that much help; she could be watching just about anything from back then. “Okay.”

“And it involves the planet Jupiter…” she drew out.

So it was science fiction, but that was hardly any surprise considering who he was talking to. “Okay,” he said again, looking for another hint.

“C’mon, you know this one; we watched it together when we were little.”

“One more hint,” Bruce urged.

She changed her voice to mimic the emotionless speech of the artificial intelligence, HAL 9000, “‘I’m sorry, Bruce, I’m afraid I can’t do that.’” 

It clicked instantly. “2001: A Space Odyssey,” he answered quickly, almost as if he were being timed on a gameshow.

“Bingo!” she smiled.

“Arthur C. Clarke was a visionary,” Bruce marvelled.

“Wasn’t he though?” Betty smirked, changing which hand she was holding her cell with. “So did you talk to Tony?” she tacked on nonchalantly afterwards.

“I… yeah, well sort of,” Bruce answered bumblingly, eyes going wide, “I mean… _partially_. Not about _everything_. Yet. But...” he searched for some way off of this topic, “weren’t we just talking about movies?”

“Diversionary tactic,” Betty explained. “I lure you into a false sense of security and get you to lower your walls. Then I throw some trivia your way to get you in the mindset to answer questions with as little hesitation as possible. Finally I blindside you with a personal question that I actually want answered.” He heard the girl snicker into the receiver, “You keep forgetting that I come from a military family.”

Bruce just shook his head. “Yeah, well we did talk. I guess I hadn’t really realized that he had feelings for me. Too. Reciprocally. More than just physical attraction.” The boy wrang at the back of his neck, feeling awkward saying it so bluntly.

“And...?” Betty drawled out slowly.

“And what?” Bruce asked, genuinely confused.

“Did you actually tell him that? Or did you keep it to yourself? You know how long it took me to convince Tony to--” Betty cut herself off, hissing a hushed “Damn it.” away from the phone.

The boy’s eyebrows both lifted. “Excuse me? Wait, Tony talked to you about this? When?”

“That has nothing to do with this,” Betty shot back defensively, though he could hear the futility of it in her voice, “I asked you a question and--”

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll ask Tony to tell me instead,” Bruce turned the tables on her.

“Okay, okay. Fine,” Betty let out a groan, putting a palm to her forehead, “It was right after the first time we three went to book club. And I was the one who brought it up. You two were both being so adorable something _had_ to be up.”

“My mom and now you,” Bruce got out with exasperation. He put his forehead down into his palm to knead at it. How many more people exactly had been privy to his and Tony’s previously-unspoken-but-now-recently-spoken feelings?

“Your mom too?” Betty couldn’t suppress the giggle that erupted, “Well I guess she would know best, right?”

He wet his lips. That was open to question, in his opinion. “Are the two of us really that transparent?”

Betty obviously thought on it for a little while before responding, “I think it’s less that you’re transparent and more that we’re just very perceptive when it comes to the people we know and care about,” Betty reassured him, adding the next statement as an afterthought, “Plus, I wanted to win that round of Jenga, and you’ve seen how I get when I’m competitive.”

Bruce chuckled. “Yeah. I know.” He shook his head. “She tried to suggest Tony and I go out on a date,” he said in a ‘Can you believe that?’ tone.

“Of all the suggestions a mom could make, that’s pretty messed up.” Betty replied, pausing for half a beat, “I mean, you’re grounded, for one. She _probably_ could have picked a better time.”

The boy snorted at her joke, seguing into a heavy sigh. “I know she just wants me to be happy and knows that going out with him would do that. She just doesn’t know that I… well, that I can’t,” he finished lamely.

“Yeaaah...” Betty replied, mildly confused, “And why is that, exactly?”

Bruce bit his nail. “I’m still not ready.”

“Does this have anything to do with what you said to me on Christmas?”

If he could have just nodded, he would’ve. “Y-yeah,” he answered.

“You’re worried you might end up hurting him.” Betty gave a hum of understanding, “That makes sense. But there’s some things you have to recognize: Tony isn’t me, nor your mother. And you aren’t your father; you’re not even that Bruce that I was worried about back in Glendale High. You’ve changed a lot, Bruce, and there’s no reason to think you’re going to repeat those old relationships.”

That was by far the best pep-talk he’d gotten from anyone on the subject. “I… yeah. You’re right,” he admitted carefully. A year ago, Hell even six months ago, this would’ve been entirely out of the question. The fact that he _was_ questioning the possibility, that was something all on its own. “I just don’t know if that’s good enough yet.”

“I get that you don’t feel ready. It’s alright not to be ready. Just as long as you’re making an effort to be.” She sighed softly, “You don’t want to string him along. He tries to play conceited, but he’s a real sweetheart, and he’d probably wait forever if he had to.”

“I…” Bruce swallowed guiltily, staring at the concrete between his feet. “Yeah.”

“Bruce, I’m not saying that to pressure you, or make you feel guilty. He knew what he was walking into when he decided to go after you.”

The teenage boy shook his head. She was waffling. He could tell. “What do you think I should do?” he asked straight-forwardly, wanting her clear and honest opinion.

“You already know that I think you two would be great together. Go with your gut. If it’s telling you to wait, then wait. But be honest with him, if you’re going to be honest with anybody.” She pursed her lips and concluded, “And don’t let your fears push you around, or you’re ensuring you’ll _never_ be ready.”

Bruce inhaled unsteadily, but nodded silently to himself, leaning back on the porch to look up at the sky as if it could help provide him with some greater answer. The moon was in its phase of waning, not much more than a crescent cut into the darkness around it. “It’s a new moon on Saturday, isn’t it?” he realized aloud.

“Yeah. Why?” Her tone was bordering on irritated. She probably thought he was trying to change the subject.

“Do you think he’d like to go stargazing?”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea, but you know him better than I do,” Betty replied, trying to downplay the sudden excitement she was feeling. It still shone through just a little. “I actually know a great place Leonard took me last summer break... excellent view, zero light pollution, plus it’s usually pretty vacant. I could text you the directions.”

“Sure. I’d appreciate that; thanks, Betty,” Bruce said whole-heartedly.

“I’ll get those to you after we hang up then. I’ll be expecting to hear how it went too; and not weeks later either,” Betty added with a mock-sternness.

“Sorry,” the boy blushed.

“I’m just teasing,” Betty chided, the two of them slipping into a momentary silence where the each of them could’ve easily said goodbye but hadn’t, “Hey Bruce?”

“Hm?” he made the noise distractedly.

“Don’t force yourself, okay?” Betty answered, “I’d love to see you two get together, but you need to move at your own pace. I want you to be happy.”

He chuckled. “You and Mom both.”

“That’s right, you’ve got the fragile hearts of two amazing women riding on this, not to mention poor Tony’s.” Her tone was obviously teasing now, “Don’t ruin it by being miserable.”

\--

_‘PRINCIPAL CRESSMAN FIRED FOR ILLEGAL DRUG POSSESSION_

_(DEC. 19th, 2012) Former principal of Westmore High was caught for possession and distribution of narcotics among select parts of the student body early Wednesday morning. An anonymous tip-off linked the police to the stash, which was uncovered in Cressman’s office, along with several thousand dollars. Oliver Cressman now awaits trial--’_

“Enjoying the headliner story?” his ex’s voice perked his head up from the school paper.

Tony flinched on instinct. After all, Pepper hadn’t spoken to him since her big, totally irrational blow up over the assembly incident a couple days ago. “Chosen to forgive my idiocy already?” he teased, eyes turning back to the article, “But yeah, this is really something. How the Hell did Natasha find out about this?”

“Hm…” the girl made a noise, disregarding the boy’s first statement as she shifted her weight onto her other hip, “I might’ve slipped her a little info; my mom’s the plaintiff for his case. ‘Tasha and I have been sharing quite a bit lately...” she divulged.

Tony quirked an eyebrow, smirk twisting his lips, “Oh really? Like what?”

“Idiot boyfriend stories, mostly,” Pepper deadpanned. “But I was wondering if you were doing anything after school; maybe we could do something fun.” 

Tony really hoped that something fun wasn’t the kind of fun thing that he thought she meant, “Which would be...?”

Pepper knew that look. She rolled her eyes. “Mini golf, Tony. My gosh.”

“Oh, okay, cool.” Tony tried not to sound too relieved. Not like he’d ever be tempted to have sex with his ex on a mini golf course. Well, aside from that one time, but that had been way after dark behind the pagoda of hole fourteen.

“I’ll see you there at four-thirty then,” she said almost business-like, whisking off.

Wait. Had Pepper just organized a date? And had he just unwittingly fallen right into it without a second thought? Because if so, this could potentially be a gigantic setback. Tony could feel a stomach ache coming on. God, why was it so hard to say no to her? Maybe he’d have a decent opportunity to break it off during mini golf. Somewhere safe, with lots of innocent bystanders. 

And witnesses. With cell phones.

\--

_‘I am seriously beginning to question who’s the bigger masochist: me or him.’_

Pepper smirked just a bit as she rolled her eyes at the text on the screen of her phone. Natasha had been nothing but skeptical of this plan since early that morning, even though she’d fully agreed to it two nights ago when the other girl had spent the night at her house. One _entirely_ harmless little comment about ‘maybe they didn’t even _need_ boys’ and then ‘Tasha had fired back _‘Maybe we don’t.’_ and from there… well. It hadn’t been what Tony would’ve liked to imagine, but she and Natasha had agreed to give each of their boys just one more chance.

_‘Well, has he shown up yet?’_ Pepper tapped her red fingernails against the touch screen of her phone, clicking send.

_‘I think he’s going for ‘fashionably late’ again. What about yours?’_

_‘Not here yet…’_ she’d just begun to type before she heard the familiar idling of Tony’s mustang in the mini golf parking lot. She backspaced it. _‘Just arrived.’_

_‘Good luck then. Keep me posted.’_

_‘Trust me; you’ll get the full report with all the addendums.’_ The redhead tucked her phone away quickly as Tony approached.

“There you are,” Pepper leaned over to give the boy a quick kiss on the cheek. Tony gave her a quick look up and down. She’d obviously gone home long enough to change her clothes from school, now wearing heather grey leggings and a mid-thigh length knitted red sweater with a matching tube shawl which hung loosely bunched atop her shoulders to keep her neck warm. Leave it to Pep to always have another nice outfit he’d never seen.

He threw up his arms in a half-assed gesture, “You caught me.” He still wasn’t sure whether he should be doing this. If he spent too much one-on-one time with Pepper, she’d definitely be getting the wrong idea. Not that she knew it was the wrong idea to get. Because he hadn’t told her not to get that idea and by not telling her and doing this instead he was sending the wrong message and damn it his thoughts were spinning in circles. He resisted the urge to reach up and slap himself across the face.

“Well I’d hope, since you agreed to meet me,” the redhead said in a joking-but-not-joking voice.

That was debatable actually. He cleared his throat. “You clean up nice, as always,” he complimented politely, trying to keep his tone platonic.

Her resulting grin was glittering. “I do try. Which is more than I can say for you,” she took the pot-shot with a smirk and he chuckled back uncomfortably as he slid his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “Want to buy us a round?” Pepper gestured at the service counter.

“Sure, gimme one sec,” Tony nodded obligingly. She smiled and he turned off in the direction of the service counter. Luckily the line was short and he didn’t have to wait long. “Two adults please,” he said, holding up an accompanying two fingers and a fifty dollar bill.

The guy behind the counter accepted his money and got him his change and a receipt before turning to remove a couple of clubs from their cubby and indiscriminately fish out a couple of balls from the multi-colored stash. He dropped them into the teen’s open palm, “Enjoy your game.”

“Thanks,” Tony afforded a quick nod and proceeded back to Pepper, who was texting.

_‘He gave me a compliment and he’s buying.’_

_‘I thought we agreed on radio silence. If you’re not careful, you’re going to blow our cover!’_

_‘Sorry. I can’t help myself. It’s going good so far. I think he might--’_ Pepper noticed her ex’s return and promptly locked the device.

Tony didn’t know whether to interrupt or not; he resisted the urge to peek over her shoulder. “What color you want?” he asked, holding the balls out.

Pepper looked down at her choices: pink and red. While she was fairly certain which was ‘meant’ for her, she selected the latter with a mischievous smirk. “To match my outfit,” she reasoned, stashing her phone and taking her golf club as well.

“Thanks,” Tony replied with an eyeroll, “But I’m secure enough in my sexuality to not take that as an insult.” This outing, however, had the potential to leave him _very_ insecure.

Pepper led the way towards the starting hole, setting her ball down on the small three-holed rubber square. “How are you and Bruce anyway?” she inquired casually, lining up her shot.

Tony’s head perked up; was it odd that Pep was asking about the two of them? “Well, we’re--” _‘monogamous now.’_ he caught himself abruptly, “--breaking his curfew on a nightly basis.” He paused half a beat when Pepper lifted her eyebrow at him, “His idea.” Well, there went yet another perfectly good opportunity to tell his ex the truth. Disguising a cringe, he shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged, “I don’t think he likes his father’s rules very much.”

“Now that _does_ surprise me…” Pepper hummed, striking the ball. It rolled in a straight line down the course, past the small diamond-shaped concrete obstacle, coming to a gradual stop close to the hole. “Then again, you’re a terrible influence,” she added off-handedly, stepping out of the way and motioning him to take his shot.

“Terribly _good_ influence,” Tony corrected, as he took his place, setting his ball down, “The less control that self-righteous prick has over him, the better.” He tapped the ball a little too hard and sent it just past the hole, luckily bouncing off the rim and stopping only a few inches away.

“I suppose I wouldn’t know,” the girl concluded. She knew very little about her ex’s best friend with benefits. She walked down the course to her ball. But then, she highly valued the independence and autonomy her parents gave her. For instance, she could stay out as late as she liked _any_ night of the week. “I guess it’s good he’s starting to make some of his own decisions; parents really only do their children a disservice when they’re _too_ strict.” She putt the red ball into the hole and marked a 2 down on the scorecard.

“Yeah, I guess it’s one of those grass-is-greener situations,” Tony concluded, joining his ex at the other end of the green. It only took one more stroke to get the ball in. “You know, I remember this being a lot harder when we were little. I hope all the holes aren’t this simple.”

“Ha ha,” she laughed wryly at her ex’s pun. They continued over to the second course. “I never thought you’d be one to complain when a hole was ‘easy’.”

“Touché,” Tony replied, hoping that the euphemism wasn’t going anywhere. He wouldn’t bet on those odds though.

They played the next several courses, scores tightly neck-and-neck, and when it came to the final one, the girl needed a hole-in-one to beat her ex. It was one of those typical ones that bore more resemblance to skeeball than it did golf-- coincidentally not one she was great at. Tony had already aced it, buffing his nails out on his shirt. “This is it, Pep: this is your defining moment. Everything in your life has led up to this final hole. Everything hangs in the balance, and the whole world is counting on y--”

“Would you _please_ \-- zip it!” Pepper exclaimed in exasperation. Shockingly, her ex actually went quiet for her. Taking this golden moment of silence, she focused her concentration on the ball at her feet. Holding her breath, she stuck the club against it and the ball careened up the slope and dropped into the 3-slot. “Oh rats,” she rolled her eyes. “Well, I guess that means I’ll be paying next time we go out.”

Tony stammered, “Aw, Pep, you really don’t have to do that…”

“No, I think it would be fair,” the girl said as they walked back to the counter to return their borrowed clubs. She resisted the urge to bite her lip with the lipstick she was wearing and turned purposefully to face her ex. “Actually... on that subject, there’s something I’d like to say to you.”

Oh boy. Here it comes. “I’m listening,” he said cavalierly.

“I flew off the handle the other day,” Pepper admitted with readiness as she folded her hands in front of her. “It was just a joke and I knew it was just a joke and everyone knew it was just a joke. But I decided to take offense to it and I over-reacted and I shouldn’t have.” She took a deep breath and looked him right in the eyes. “I’m sorry, Tony.”

“Oh,” Tony wasn’t expecting an apology, though as shocking as it was, he’d take it over a come-on, “Well hey, it’s no big deal. I mean, I know I crossed a line.” He peered down at the ground beneath them, “Sorry for that too, by the way.”

Pepper smiled and reached out to take his hand. “Thanks for the apology. Though…”

“Welcome,” Tony muttered back, noticing that Pepper wasn’t breaking eye contact. “What, is there more?” he asked teasingly.

The girl looked a bit nervous. “Well… it’s just that… I owe you another apology. For something else.” She brushed hair back over one shoulder and then the other.

“Yeah?” Tony voiced. He once again had no clue where this conversation was heading, and it was making him very uncomfortable.

Her head hung. “I’ve been using you for sex. With complete disregard for your feelings,” she said. Yes, the two of them had agreed initially to have a little no-strings-attached sex. That didn’t make it any less selfish on her part. And after sitting down and thinking, really _thinking_ about just how much she _cared_ about this boy-- as inappropriate and irresponsible as he could be-- she knew she couldn’t go on with it. Her hand squeezed tighter on his and she looked up, “That was wrong and completely unfair of me and I don’t want to do it anymore.”

Tony reached up to scratch his head. Wow. That was actually kind of… nice to hear, if surprising. He swallowed. Of course, this was also the moment he’d been waiting for. It was the perfect opportunity to break things off if he was going to. She was practically laying out the red carpet for him, and still, he couldn’t bring himself to say it. He gaped for a moment before finding the words, “It’s... it’s fine. Forget about it.”

Pepper smiled again, beside herself with relief. It didn’t surprise her much that Tony didn’t see it as any big deal, but still, now they could start over from the beginning again. Maybe do things right this time. Avoid the shouting matches and just care about one another, openly. Without further hesitation, she closed the gap between them, pressing her lips against his.

His conscience was screaming for him to stop, to shove her off, to back away from the kiss and apologize, come clean, or just _run_ if all else failed. But for a few insane seconds, his mouth didn’t listen, and when good sense caught up, he was horrified. He pulled away slowly, resisting the urge to touch his lips. _‘I… I kissed_ back. _Oh Jesus, I kissed back. I’m a scumbag. How am I ever gonna look Bruce in the eye again?’_

He needed a minute, or fifteen of them, preferably in a row. “I, uh, need to make a bathroom run real quick,” he muttered, trying to sound as sincere as possible.

The redhead’s eyes rolled. “You are something else; alright, go.”

Tony nodded gratefully, turning on his heel towards the bathrooms, but making a hard turn for the parking lot when he was sure he was out of his trying-no-longer-to-be-an-ex’s field of vision.

Pepper tapped her heel against the pavement a moment before coming to conclusion that she might as well go to the bathroom herself. Who knew where they’d go from here. She took the same route Tony had, entering the girl’s room. As she was washing her hands, the girl evaluated her reflection, tongue clicking at the amount of lipstick that had come off. Pepper dug into her purse, removing the tube of scarlet and twisting it out to reapply it. Popping her lips together twice and knowing that by now she’d likely kept her ex-ex-boyfriend waiting, she exited, only to stop and turn about in the lobby confusedly when she didn’t see Tony anywhere.

Tony found the nearest trash can to stand by and light up. He needed to de-stress for a few minutes and rethink his strategy. He really had to muster up the courage to turn Pepper down, once and for all. But God, did he hate to see her upset. Especially when it was usually him who ended up upsetting her.

He extracted the likely stale pack of cigarettes that he’d lifted from Bruce on New Years Eve. The pack had gone untouched since that night, coincidentally the last night they’d slept in the same bed together. _Slept_ slept. They’d been doing plenty of the other.

_‘Think.’_ He reminded himself, _‘You’re a goddamn genius, you should be able to figure this out.’_

Sighing, he plucked one of the few remaining cigarettes out of its box by the filter, and placed it between his lips. He quickly flicked his lighter open and on, letting the flame dance under the tip and inhaling greedily. Yep, they’d definitely gone stale, but Tony paid no mind, happy to finally feel his calm returning.

Of course, on a base level, it was flattering: Having the attention of two amazing, intelligent, attractive friends. But they’d come to a juncture. There was no way he could be Bruce and Pepper’s boyfriend simultaneously. Tony took another deep, slow drag, letting the smoke dance across his tongue as he inhaled. _‘I’m seeing Bruce now.’_ That’s all he really needed to say, right? That was self-explanatory. He inhaled again, slowly this time, sitting down on the curb and allowing his head to tilt back and his eyes to flutter shut...

“Anthony Simon Stark!” Pepper exclaimed, eliciting a jump from the boy sitting on the curb. He wheeled around to see a none-too-pleased looking Miss Potts, both hands on her hips. “Just _what_ do you think you’re doing?”

“Nothing!” Tony shouted defensively, sliding off the curb in his panic and tipping back onto the asphalt.

Pepper sighed and walked forward to lean over the boy’s prone form, plucking the cigarette from his currently parted lips. “‘Nothing’ doesn’t require you to lie to your date about where you’re going,” she said disapprovingly.

“Give it back...” Tony growled. He was being thrown headlong into confrontation and it was threatening to override the effects of the nicotine. “I understand what you’re trying to do, but give it back.”

“Do you?” Pepper questioned. “You show up on my doorstep with… with this _thing_ strapped to your chest, tell me that you had another cardiac episode, and now you sneak off to _smoke?_ ” Her words were as incredulous as they were incensed. “It’s clear to me that the only way you’re going to learn is the hard way.” She ground the lit end into the nearby wooden fence.

“Dammit Pepper, finishing that one cigarette wouldn’t have killed me!” Tony shouted, standing.

“No, but neither would the next one... or the other after that… _or_ the one after that,” she pretended to use the boy’s logic, showing the loophole therein.

Tony grit his teeth, seething. “You know--” he stopped short. There was no winning this fight. Yeah, this was _classic_ Pepper. And what a surprise that her ‘over-concerned’ nature was making a comeback immediately once she presumed they were back together. “No. Nevermind. Let’s go back to mini golf now. I’m _totally_ in the mood for another round after this,” he griped, stomping past her towards the green, “Toss that out if you’re done making an example of it. I’m not getting fined for your litter.”

She flicked it into the street fast enough to snag the boy by the arm. “Oh now don’t go getting angry at _me_ , Tony. I remember this pissy little attitude of yours and I’m not going to stand for it. Though God knows that if _Bruce_ told you to stop, you’d actually _listen_.”

“Bruce didn’t snatch the cigarette out of my fucking mouth,” Tony glared, his tone venomous, “He understood and just let me cope with what was bothering me. He didn’t presume to know me better than I did.”

Pepper folded her arms. “Well, for not ‘presuming’ it was still a pretty good call on his part to get you to stop drinking. But I guess I’m not allowed to do the same; I should just _let_ you give yourself lung cancer!”

“Oh right, the _drinking_.” Tony gestured emphatically with one hand, “Bruce made me promise not to binge anymore. _I_ chose to follow that promise. He supported me instead of trying to force my hand.” He wanted to leave it there, but he just couldn’t swallow down the final remark that was perched on his tongue, ready to strike, “For someone who’s so _bothered_ by the idea of being coddled by an ex, you don’t seem to see anything wrong with trying to take me apart and fix me.” He threw his arms up, “And you think a _marriage proposal_ is overwhelming?”

“My God, Tony, this is not the same!” she said shrilly, throwing her purse down at the ground.

“Of course it’s not the same! _We’re_ not dating!” he spat back, eyes going wide with shock when he realized what he’d said, “Pep, I--”

Pepper deflated. Her face fell and she began to blink quickly to force the moisture from springing to them. She shut her eyes and nodded. “Right. I knew that-- _know_ that,” she corrected. “We’re not. You don’t... you’re not like that, you’re not dating material,” she concluded, absently rubbing the outsides of her arms. He never had been. And trying to change Tony Stark was like trying to change the way the planets orbited around the sun. Pepper seemed to come back to her senses, shaking her head. “I-I’m sorry; I’ve been really stupid, haven’t I?”

He took a few slow breaths before replying, “Y-you’re not… I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“But I have been…!” the redhead argued back, tears really flowing now. “Doing all this apologizing like I’m going to treat you better now and then y-yelling at you almost immediately afterward… just the way I always used to...” She sniffled and bent to retrieve her purse, digging through it for a tissue.

Well so much for not upsetting her. Tony reached out to place his hands on her arms, steadying her. “Pep, it’s not you. You’re amazing. You’ve always been amazing. We both screwed up back then, but it’s in the past now, okay?” Tony ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “I wish I could tell you that we can start over from square one and try again, but--” he hesitated, unsure even now how to explain his situation.

Her ex’s assurances calmed her slightly. Pepper reached up to dab at her eyes with the Kleenex. “But?”

Tony took a deep breath. Well, this was it. “I love Bruce,” he exhaled slowly, “It wouldn’t be fair to either of you if I wasn’t serious about it.”

She blinked again. Tony loved _Bruce?_ She’d thought her ex was just being his typical playboy self and getting action wherever he could find it with whoever was willing to give it. The fact that he actually had genuine _feelings_ for someone (other than her, years ago) seemed… well, a little unfathomable. Or, at least, unlikely. Pepper stared into his eyes, studying them a long moment. “You really do, don’t you?” she realized out loud.

Tony sighed in relief. Was Pepper the first person he’d ever told other than Bruce himself? God that felt good to say out loud. He nodded, smiling fondly, “Yeah… I do.”

“Wow, that’s oddly… sweet,” the girl voiced, still somewhat perplexed but her anger had dissipated. She blew her nose and tossed the wad in the trash, squaring her shoulders. “I guess I _would_ have to be a pretty big bitch to get in the way of that. I guess I just never realized you two were… serious at all.”

Tony tread carefully, “Well, I do recall hearing something about the vengeful ex schtick not being your style.”

She rolled her eyes with a _‘pssh’_ sound, giving him a light shove. “I never said it wasn’t tempting.” The girl paused a moment before asking, “But why didn’t you just tell me sooner?”

Tony shrugged, “My sense of good timing has been a bit off lately. Plus it’s a pretty recent development.” He sighed softly, scratching his head. “Hardly even a development. I posed the idea of monogamy, we got drunk and had sex, and then we both just kind of… said it. The ‘I love you’ thing, that is. I would say that makes us a ‘thing’,” he substituted with finger quotes for lack of a better label, “But I have a feeling it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

Pepper gave a forceful snort through her nose at the tale. “Well, you are both boys, so that all sounds typical.”

"You're telling me girls aren't complicated?" Tony scoffed, settling tentatively back into banter. Pepper really was a great friend in spite of everything. It was strange how it took all of this to help him realize it.

“No,” she changed which hip she was standing on pointedly, “I’m saying boys are notorious for their inability to admit they have emotions. Most especially you and Bruce. Bruce even _more_ especially. That boy is a statue.”

Tony frowned ever so slightly. “I feel like you’re disregarding all the ‘sharing’ I just did.”

“So you’re going to be making it official then?” Her orange eyebrows raised.

The shift in subject made him cough. “Well,” Tony scratched the back of his neck. Yeah, that was one of the prominent areas where it got complicated. “It’s not only up to me.”

“Right back to my original statement then,” Pepper concluded. “You’re both terrible at admitting your feelings. So, that’s step one. Tell him you want to make it official, get him to agree. Whatever that takes. Then, step two: actually make it official and start doing couple-y stuff. You should be mini golfing with him right now, not me.”

Was she making him a _to-do list?_ The boy shook his head. “Thank you for that statement of the obvious. But can I take this moment to comment on how weird it is that you’re readily championing my cause?”

The redhead gave him a look up and down. “You’d rather I be jealous?”

“No, no, of course not!” Tony backpedaled, “I just… wasn’t expecting it? I was kind of expecting--”

“I’d be insulted? Try to get you to change your mind?” Pepper offered up a couple of possibilities. “Tony, if Bruce actually makes you that happy, then _he’s_ who I want you to be with.”

Tony stood stunned. “Well… well, thanks,” he began. “That means a lot, Pep.”

“Mhm. That said, he’d best make you very, very, _very_ happy,” her mouth tweaked with testiness for the briefest of moments. “So. Arcade? Bet I can beat your score in Time Crisis.”

Tony smirked in response, “You know what? Yeah. You’re on.”


	46. Chapter 46

Rebecca hummed to herself as she performed the routine calibration inspection of the electromagnets on Bunker 1-C’s particle accelerator. It was one of the laboratory’s newer pieces of equipment, installed sometime during her absence after the old accelerator had been scrapped. Nodding satisfactorily at the units on the LCD display, she closed the circuitry panel and made note in the spreadsheet on her clipboard before moving onto the next. Any little misalignment could result in shot failure, ruined results, and wasted resources-- routine was not to be neglected.

Once finished, she dated and signed the hardware evaluation form and headed upstairs to her office so she could digitally catalogue the paperwork and forward it to 1-C’s technicians-- they would be responsible for making the adjustments advised by her report. Then it would be off to 5-C to analyze some spectroscopy data collected from a shot performed a couple days prior. And at 3 PM there was a board meeting to go over the goals for the quarter.

Goodness, she was just such a busy bee!

Smiling, she turned a corner down the hall and saw that a presentation was letting out in Room 104, one of the many rooms with a high-end projection screen. She stood out of the way of the men and women exiting along the corridor with a polite “Oh, excuse me.” They smiled and nodded back as they went to attend to whatever business they had next. Rebecca resumed her path towards her office, but not without a curious little peek into the presentation room.

Though the man who had been presenting had his back to her, currently closing his briefcase, she recognized him right away. “Howard? What a pleasant surprise!”

The inventor turned around. “Rebecca? Well, the pleasure’s all mine.”

She smiled at the greeting, devoting just a moment to taking his appearance in. None of their previous encounters had been in a professional setting, and the three-piece suit and tie was a remarkably good look for him. “I didn’t expect to see you at the laboratory, don’t you have your own private lab?” she asked curiously.

Howard snorted, “Yes, but I’m here strictly on business. As much as I’d love to fiddle around, I was only here to pitch a few prototypes to the board. R and D have their hands full already, so I was looking to contract a handful of the best and brightest for the project.”

“Oh, I see. Well, there are certainly a few of those around here,” Rebecca said chipperly-- talent abounded within the walls of the laboratory. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find the help you’re looking for, assuming they aren’t tied-up with other projects.”

“I think the presentation went well. Then again, it’s not very often anymore that people say no to Howard Stark,” Howard joked, then paused awkwardly when he remembered the woman he was talking to. That was an easy statement to misinterpret. He cleared his throat, regarding the water cooler a few feet away; he filled a paper Dixie cup quickly and downed the cool liquid in one glug as if it were a shot of whiskey.

Rebecca let slip a giggle, though she hadn’t meant to. Her skirt swayed with her as she leaned onto her other hip. “I suppose it _would_ be difficult.” She almost stopped there, but clarified, “That is, you’ve come up with some of the most technologically advanced concepts seen this decade. Everyone should be so lucky as to have the opportunity to work with you. Professionally.” She knew she was flirting to a small extent, but there wasn’t really any harm to doing so.

If that comment weren’t an ego booster... Howard felt his confidence bolster enough for a joke. “Still can’t cook anything more complex than a Hungry Man TV dinner though...” he remarked.

Her laugh echoed through the room again, more buoyant than the last. She drew her hand away from her mouth once she’d recovered. “Goodness, if that’s the case perhaps you should consider contracting a few chefs as well?” the woman teased gently.

“I don’t think I’d feel right about you taking on a second job so soon after starting up here,” Howard joked back. “Though the idea of a personal chef that knows how to work a particle accelerator...” Howard rubbed his forefinger across his moustache thoughtfully, “Forward me your résumé and I’ll give it my consideration.”

Rebecca smirked at the jest. “I don’t think those come standard in most kitchens, nor do I think too many recipes call for them.” She glanced down at the watch on her wrist then.

“Hm?” Howard hummed following her eyes to the timepiece, “Oh, am I keeping you?”

“Oh,” her head snapped back up, “No. Well, yes, but...” she pushed some hair out of her face behind an ear, “Nothing urgent. Just some spectroscopy analyzation,” she gestured with the manilla file-folder in her hands before hiding it behind her back. “I can easily attend to it tomorrow, if...” that thought seemed to stop there.

“If…?” Howard shifted expectantly.

“Well, if you wanted to grab some coffee or something,” Rebecca finished out with a small smile.

“Honestly...” Howard swallowed hard. Tony was definitely not going to like this. He smiled warmly and continued, “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

The two of them exited the presentation room and made their way down to the in-house coffee shop located in the publically accessible area of the laboratory. They each ordered something to drink and found somewhere to sit. Howard went the gentlemanly route and pulled out a chair for her. “So if you don’t mind me asking, when did you start working at the laboratory?” he asked, genuinely curious. It was rare, even these days, to find many women in such a setting, and last he’d checked, Mrs. Banner was strictly a homemaker.

“Oh, thank you,” Rebecca flattened out her skirt beneath her as she took a seat at the little two-person table. He pushed in her chair and he took his own seat. “Actually, I first started at the laboratory in ‘79,” she shared with a pleasant lilt. “But I decided to come back now that Bruce is older and doesn’t need me so much anymore. They hired me back just this week!”

“Well that’s great,” Howard beamed. He shouldn’t have been surprised, considering how enthralled she’d seemed during his and Brian’s Superstring Theory debate over Thanksgiving dinner as to whether or not the highest energy particle accelerators could give rise to the production of black holes. “How does it feel? Being back, I mean.”

“Well exciting for one,” she said brightly, “Being part of something larger again, contributing research to such a vast-- and still mostly unexplored-- field. There have been countless breakthroughs while I was gone, but there are so many more to be had.” She laughed before admitting, “Because of that, it’s been a little daunting at times too, but I suppose that’s natural for any new position, even one in radioisotope production.”

Howard chuckled, “Well, I can imagine. But if your work is anything like your cooking, I’m sure you’ll make it look effortless.”

“Oh, you,” Rebecca gave him a little bat on the arm, but she very much appreciated the compliment. “So I’m curious, were you ever intending to pick back up your research on Nuclear Pulse Propulsion? I was a little disappointed when you dropped it twelve years ago” she said, making small-talk while she sipped her hot beverage. “It had such promising applications for future space travel.”

Howard felt his face heat up just a bit, “You… you followed my work that far back?”

“Oh, well, Bruce was very into aeronautics back then,” she explained with fond recollection.

Howard chuckled, “Kids always want to be astronauts. Though, Tony wanted to be a robot when he was that age.”

Rebecca crooned, placing her hand upon her heart. “Oh, children are so precious, aren’t they?”

Howard laughed half-heartedly as he gazed into his cup and stirred his coffee, “They are.” He paused thoughtfully, “You know, Rebecca...”

The utterance of her first name came as a surprise to her, drawing her gaze up to meet his eyes. “Yes?” she asked.

Howard nibbled on the inside of his cheek briefly, “There... was a reason I dropped my research on Nuclear Pulse Propulsion...” He hesitated long enough for doubt to take root, and now he wasn’t sure whether he should carry on explaining.

Her head tilted curiously, noticing the inventor’s body language had changed drastically.

“I was really passionate about it, but... more _pressing_ concerns began taking up most of my time. You see, my late wife...” he trailed off with a heavy sigh.

One of Rebecca’s hands came off her coffee cup with instinctual swiftness to press down on Howard’s. This topic couldn’t be an easy one for the widower. She wanted to let him know she was listening.

Howard’s hand stirred briefly at the unexpected contact, but he didn’t comment upon it, flashing a sad half-smile her way without lifting his eyes from his coffee cup. “When Tony was born... it was really hard on Mari-- his mother. She went into cardiac arrest in the delivery room. It turned out that she had a genetic abnormality involving her heart that had gone unnoticed until then. She recovered from the birth, but the condition remained long after.”

Rebecca felt the organ in her own chest clench; she squeezed his hand. “That... that must’ve been a difficult time for you... and her,” she added softly.

“It was terrifying,” Howard admitted, “Neither of us knew how much longer she had...” He exhaled roughly through his nose, “So I did a lot of searching. I read book after book, consulted with every specialist I could find. Eventually I’d decided that if nobody was able to do anything to help her, I was going to do it on my own.”

Rebecca nodded quietly to his determination.

“I came up with a prototype. The Auto-Rhythmic Cell Reactor, or ARC Reactor for short. Of course Maria was always concerned I was spending too much time on it; I tried to balance it equally with work and family, but you know how difficult that kind of thing can be,” he shrugged.

Rebecca nodded. “Yes. Yes, I know exactly,” she said, once again brushing hair out of her face. When Bruce had been conceived, Brian was adamant that their child have a mother-figure growing up, something the man himself had lacked. What other choice did she have but quit her job and take that role? And yet it had thrown things horribly out of balance for their family.

“The summer of 2002, I put aside everything to make the final big push it took to get it out of the beta stages and... well, ready for _her_.”

Rebecca blinked tears out of her eyes; she knew this story didn’t come with a happy ending. “Oh, Howard...”

“She lost a lot of blood, and...” Howard shook his head slowly as if he was trying to ward off the past pain, “Obviously she didn’t make it. After that, I didn’t really feel the same about my old research anymore.”

Rebecca nodded again, understandingly. “I wouldn’t expect you to. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring back such terrible memories,” she apologized to the man.

“It’s perfectly fine,” Howard said with more stoicism than he really felt. It was true, he hadn’t intended to share all this when he’d sat down, but now it was all pouring out to the woman currently holding his hand. He couldn’t recall confiding this story to anyone, apart from his own son, which he’d only done quite recently and only when confronted by the boy. Howard shook his head, finally lifting his gaze from his drink, “And Tony--” he stopped short. 

“Tony... what?” Rebecca tilted her head with confusion. It congealed in the moment she locked eyes with the man, the way they were glistening and trembling in their sockets. “Oh no. The condition is hereditary...?” she ventured in a whisper.

Howard’s eyes had answered her long before he managed a stiff nod, “About two years after my wife passed, my son had his first episode.” He lifted the cup to his lips and took a long sip before setting it down again, “I guess it was only natural that I started making revisions on the old design and burying myself in my work...” his voice cracked, “all the while hiding the truth from him.”

It was very troubling news about Tony. Rebecca pat the inventor’s hand consolingly. To be frank, she wasn’t used to this of open of a conversation-- Brian always kept things so locked up close to his heart, he rarely spoke of them. Howard was a much more sentimental man than she had known. “It _is_ only natural. It’s not wrong to do all we can to protect our children.” Her smile became a little sadder, “Even if we sometimes have to hide the truth to do it.”

Howard shook his head bitterly. “It was escapism. And cowardice,” he spoke derisively. “I didn’t have to see the problem as long as I put all my focus on a solution. It was hard enough losing one of them-- that was how I justified it. I guess I didn’t notice it then, but I was making more problems than I was solving. I want my boy to grow up strong. He’s so much stronger now than he gives himself credit for, but... sometimes I just don’t know if I have any right to call myself his father anymore.”

Both her hands now clasped his together. “Howard, you are a good and great man,” Rebecca reassured. “And a loving father as well, though you may not realize it. Tony is a joy. It shows through him. I wish Bri--” her mouth closed suddenly and she drew her hands back, looking away as if she felt guilty for saying it aloud.

Howard paused before proceeding carefully, “Brian wants the same for his son that I do: he wants him to grow up strong and smart. We don’t want our kids to fail and we don’t want to see them repeat our mistakes. If I may, I think we both kind of missed the mark, but in some ways I think our boys might be a bit better off for that.”

She nodded distantly, twirling the pendant of her necklace.

“I don’t doubt for a second that Brian loves his son. We’re just... we’re both very prideful men, Rebecca. And sometimes putting those walls down, reminding ourselves just how _much_ of a shit we actually give... it’s something we’re near accustomed to avoiding,” he said frankly.

“Yes,” Rebecca gave a light laugh, knowing that to be quite true. She seemed to remember her coffee then, taking a sip and finding it had gone somewhat lukewarm. She crossed a leg over a knee, kicking her heel lightly in the air. “I suppose, as a mother, I see things slightly differently. I just want our boys to live a happy life.” She nodded to herself, quite sure that Howard’s wife would have expressed the same were she here at the table with them. “Everything else isn’t important,” she smiled at the man.

Howard snorted, “You make it sound like they’re an item...” He shook his head slowly as he brought the cup to his lips again.

Rebecca focused a pointed look at him that said _‘You haven’t noticed?’_

Howard’s gulp was notably louder than usual as he swallowed his mouthful of coffee, wide-eyed. “You’re screwin’ with me, right?”

“Goodness no. Our little darlings have been starry-eyed since the first time Tony slept over,” she stated, sipping her drink.

“That doesn’t make any sense...” Howard replied incredulously, even though as he thought about it, all the signs were there. “Boy’s been chasing Virginia Potts since before he was old enough to know why.” Hadn’t the boy just gone out with her a couple days ago?

Rebecca looked legitimately concerned for a moment. “You don’t have any problem with...?”

“Problem?” Howard tilted his head for a moment, before he realized what she was getting at, “Oh. No! Christ, no! I’m just... well. Surprised, for one. Weren’t you?” So much for not being ‘funny’; he snorted.

“Well...” she pondered for a moment as she set her coffee cup down, “Bruce never particularly showed any interest in anyone... not even little Betty Ross, and they were playmates for years growing up.”

“Hm... Tony had that one kid... Rhodey something? They were really close before he left to join the service.” Howard paused thoughtfully, “But I don’t ever remember Rhodey spending the night like Bruce has...” He seemed to freeze in place for a moment before starting up again, “Oh holy Hell, they _are_.”

Rebecca gave a small giggle, placing her hands down in her lap. “I think it’s sweet. They get along so well; they’re good for one another.”

“Yeah, Tony did seem pretty low since Bruce went home after New Years...” Howard replied, still trying to fully absorb this new information, “But, uh, if that’s what’s going on...” Howard took another sip of his coffee as he gathered himself, “I’m sorry, I’m kind of new to this; shouldn’t we be worried? As parents?”

“Worried about what?” the mother queried.

Howard shrugged, “I don’t know.” He tried to form his thoughts into a coherent sentence, “I mean they’re brilliant boys, but... well, they’re _boys_ , and...” he trailed off and took another nervous sip of his coffee.

“Oh, you mean...” Rebecca’s mouth twisted in subtle amusement.

“Yeah,” Howard continued, just as much to answer her as to cut her off before either of them had time to dwell on the implications, “That.”

She’d dated her share of smart boys in high school and college; she knew how much of an appetite they could have. “Well, you were a young man once,” she said to the man sitting across from her, sweeping hair out of her face, “You grew out of it eventually, right? I’m sure so will they, in time.”

Howard paled slightly, “Oh God. Now I’m _really_ worried.”

The mother laughed. “Oh my. Well, they both have good heads on their shoulders, I’m confident they are being safe.” She smiled a moment before continuing. “You know, Bruce signed up for some JC courses and he’s getting back into Jiu-Jitsu. If you’re concerned, you could perhaps encourage Tony to get involved in some extra curriculars as well...”

“Hm...” Howard nodded, bringing the cup to his lips. When the cup was set down again, the man’s barely-there smirk betrayed nothing more than the words that followed, “I think I might have a better idea.”

Rebecca smiled and once again turned the inside of her forearm up to look at her watch. “Well, I should probably get to some of that analyzation, but I really enjoyed having coffee with you, Howard.” She looked into his eyes a little too long before dropping eye-contact and continuing, “It’s nice talking to someone else with a... scientific background. Next time you visit, feel free to knock on my office door; it’s in section 2-C, number 242.”

Howard smiled and stood away from them table, pushing out his chair. “Absolutely; it’s been my pleasure.” He was about to hold out his hand for a friendly handshake when the woman quite suddenly put her arms around him in a familial hug. Howard stood stunned for a beat before allowing his arms to curl around her waist tentatively, returning the embrace. It was a brief exchange, albeit long enough for Howard to decipher what kind of perfume she was wearing and subsequently give himself a mental kick in the ass in his son’s name.

“Well,” he said finally, stepping back to separate them, arms straight and at his sides like a soldier, “I’ll, uh... be seeing you around?”

Rebecca nodded, “I’m sure of that. Good luck with your project,” she said in parting as she turned to go.

“And your research,” Howard replied, eyes following her retreating form almost confusedly. He sighed and pulled out his phone, dialing in a number as he returned to the table, “Ah hello, I was looking for a Mr. Mancini? Mmhmm.” The multi-billionaire rolled his eyes as he spoke the next sentence in a hushed tone, “Just tell him ‘Howie’s’ calling...”

\--

Howard found his son up in his room reading with the TV on. The teenager was reclined in his bed, the bottom edge of his Kindle propped up on his chest; he looked entirely consumed by what he was reading, a little crease between his eyebrows. It looked like he’d forgotten about the episode of Inspector Gadget playing in front of him. Howard was partially tempted to leave the teenager be and bring things up later, but then he reminded himself he was trying to do this parenting thing better now and that he had an obligation to his son. He straightened up and delivered firmly, “Boy.”

Tony just about leapt out of his skin. “Jesus! Stop doing that!” he hissed, trying to smooth down the hairs on the back of his neck. With a light huff, he set his kindle down beside him on the bed and nabbed the remote to pause the episode. “What’s up?”

Howard tilted his head as he walked further into the room. “Reading Flowers for Algernon again?” he asked curiously. The boy had always seemed to have an obsession with that book.

The teenager set the device to its power-saving screen. “Okay, first off, you need to not read over my shoulder. It’s creepy. And secondly, no, it’s not Flowers for Algernon.” Just for the record, it _was_ Flowers for Algernon. It was also his second read through since the last book club meeting. Really, his nose should have been in The Silver Linings Playbook, since it was what they’d be discussing Sunday, but he still had more than 24 hours; that was plenty of time.

“I hope this is an alright time…” Howard spoke, coming over to take a seat beside his son. “Your results came back.”

Tony’s breath caught in his throat, and he croaked out an “Oh yeah?”

Howard nodded a bit stiffly. “The majority of it was rather inconclusive, unsurprisingly. But apparently some of the morphology bears resemblance to your mother’s a few months before…” he tried to get it out but shook his head instead. “Most likely coincidence, I was told. Often people with your condition will go through phases of severity-- you’ve probably had similar bouts in the past and not even known it. But just in case, they’d like to repeat the Holter test once you’ve been on your new medication awhile, perhaps for a slightly longer duration.”

Tony swallowed. “Yeah. That’s… yeah...” he finished lamely. He glanced over at the new bottle of white-and-yellow pills sitting on his nightstand; he’d gotten them a couple days prior and hadn’t been sure if he should start taking them immediately or finish out his previous prescription. Now he supposed he had his answer.

“I… felt I ought to tell you,” the older man said.

Tony exhaled slowly through his nose, nodding. “Thanks for telling me,” he said with some earnestness; he knew it had probably been a hard thing for his old man to do.

“At any rate...” Howard cleared his throat and sought to change the subject, “I’ve spoken to your Principal about your behaviour recently, and all the retroactive detentions you’ve had to serve. We came to an agreement-- no amount of consecutive detentions are going to teach you to respect authority.”

“Damn straight,” Tony muttered.

“So the agreement was: You don’t have to serve any more detentions.”

“Sweet. I wish I could’ve seen the cyclops’ face.”

Howard stroked his chin, “You know, when I was your age, I was out delivering pizzas. Nobody gave me an allowance. Hell, your grandfather couldn’t _wait_ to get me out of the house.”

Tony snorted and picked his Kindle back up, “I’m pretty sure gramps wasn’t a multi-billionaire.”

“Not even close. He didn’t even have the money to put me through college. My tuition was paid for in sweat, tears, and about two dozen IOU’s.”

Tony lifted his eyes from the line he was reading warily, “Huh.”

“I had to work hard and sacrifice to get where I am right now financially. I learned more than my share of hard lessons, boy. You can’t _buy_ discipline. That’s just as much of what made Stark Industries what it is today as any weapons or tech we sell.”

“Uh... huh.” His son didn’t even appear to be listening now.

Howard sighed. It was time to put his foot down. “You’re getting a job.”

Tony snorted out a laugh that took him a moment to fully recover from. “No, seriously, what are you getting at?” he asked, smirking at his father.

Howard’s face remained serious and unchanging. “I arranged an interview with my old manager at Salvatore’s...”

“You’re kidding,” the teenager sat up to gawk at his old man. “I mean you’ve really _got_ to be kidding.”

“...You’re pretty much hired, unless you screw up the interview...” Howard went on casually.

“And what if I don’t _want_ to work at a pizza parlour?” Tony combated, clearly incensed.

“Well then you’d better hope the gas in your tank lasts you until you inherit the company,” the older Stark said matter-of-factly, “It took almost two hours, _and_ a sizeable donation to the teachers’ fund to get Fury to back down and consider it as a potential substitute.” Howard’s voice was almost commanding before he slipped back into smug and aloof, “Oh, as a side note, you might also be required to enter the voluntary tutor program when SAT season comes along.”

“What kind of voluntary program _makes_ people join?” Tony griped.

“Principal Fury told me it’s more of a strong suggestion. _Very_ strong.”

“I hate you,” Tony grimaced.

“Stop. Please,” Howard teased, rolling his eyes, “Keep it up and I’m going to feel like a real dad.”

Tony flopped backward onto his bed. “Ugh, fuck me,” he grumbled, grabbing his pillow and mooshing it over his face.

Howard cleared his throat. That brought up the last part of the conversation he’d been intending to have with his son. “Is Bruce coming over again tonight?” he inquired. The past week his son had had his... friend over late, later than his curfew should have allowed him to be over, but Howard had purposely been turning a blind eye to the matter.

Tony lifted the pillow away from his face, revealing a raised eyebrow. “You were _awake?_ ”

“Irrelevant to the question,” Howard countered.

Tony narrowed his eyes, “As far as I know, yes. What, are we in trouble now?”

“Nothing of the sort, I was merely inquiring. You and he... Well… I know that you two have been… That is to say, in your private time together...” he placed his hands upon his hips and cleared his throat again, not quite sure how to move forward.

Tony tilted his head a few degrees to the side. “What are you…?” he started, but stopped when he realized what his dad was trying to say. His eyes widened in panic, “Oh God. Dad, we’re not having--”

Howard tipped his chin down to give his son a look that said _‘Yeah you are.’_ “You don’t have to lie to me, boy.”

The teenager paled. So they _were_ in trouble. “Listen, it’s just--” he faltered in his response, “It was my idea. If his parents find out I don’t know what they’ll--”

“I’m not sure you understand, boy.” He paused a short moment. “Rebecca was the one who told me.”

Tony gaped, at a loss for words. He swallowed, “R-really? Mrs. Banner knows that we’re--?”

Howard nodded, “In fact, she sounds rather supportive about the whole thing.”

Tony was breathing a bit easier now, but he was still hesitant to relax completely as he risked one further question, “...And you?”

The older man rubbed his jaw as if in contemplation, eyes defocusing somewhat as he delved into recollection. “When Steve Sr. and I were your ages, we fooled around during quite a few summers...”

“ _Dad!_ ” Tony’s jaw plummeted, “Seriously?!” Had his old man just said that, or was he hearing things? Horrible, gross, nightmare-inducing things. Yet, in spite of how disturbing the idea was, he couldn’t help but want to hear. After all, he really didn’t know much about his father’s younger years. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Yes, _‘seriously’_ ,” Howard mimicked his son’s tone. “We got along and... cared about one another, more than brothers. All behind closed doors, of course. The times didn’t allow for it quite as much as they do today.” His moustache twitched on his upper lip, and then he smirked a tad, “It also shouldn’t surprise you that before you or Steve Jr. were born, your mother and I swung with the Rogers. Game night was for more than Trivial Pursuit.” He chuckled fondly at the memory.

Okay, maybe that was too much information. Tony scraped his top teeth over his tongue a few times like he was trying to get a bad taste out of his mouth as he tried to mull over some kind of response, “That’s… uh, well, that’s nice to--” He halted, eyes widening, “Wait a tick. You didn’t expect me and Steve to… to...” he gestured in place of the word, “too, did you??”

“Hm, no…” the man dismissed readily enough. “Though admittedly, it was a bit of a bafflement that you had such an extreme dislike for one another. Even as infants you fought. We decided to keep you out of the same playpen after the glitter-glue incident...”

“Glitter-glue incident?” Tony raised an incredulous eyebrow.

“Yes,” Howard aligned his sights on Tony down the line of his nose, “You decided the only way to get back at Junior for tossing a model stealth aircraft at your face was to squirt half a tube of glitter-glue up his left nostril. Poor boy was sneezing and pooping glitter for a week. Or so Steven and Peggy told us.”

Tony couldn’t help the snort that escaped him, “I’ll have to bring that up next time I see him.”

“It was a long time ago; he may not remember any better than you do. But, back on subject...” the older Stark cleared his throat and refocused his gaze upon his son, “Whether or not this is an experimental phase for you or Bruce... I don’t see anything wrong with it. I stick by what I’ve said before: Bruce is a good kid,” he concluded.

Tony nodded solemnly, “He’s great.”

Howard stood and moved towards the door, pausing thoughtfully in the threshold to turn around. “I forgot to ask. Do you need any condoms? That’s the proper over-protective but supportive parent thing to ask, right?” He seemed to place greater inquiry on the second question than the first.

“Yes, Dad, just the right level of embarrassing and invasive,” Tony assured his father, “And no, I have plenty of condoms.”

“Excellent,” the father looked pleased with himself. “Oh, and could you boys do me the favor of scooting the bed a little further away from the wall tonight? It _has_ made it a little more difficult to sleep the past few nights.”


	47. Chapter 47

_‘Might not be able to make it tonight.’_

Tony pulled up the most recent text he’d gotten from Bruce to stare at it unhappily for the fourth time in twenty minutes. Of all the nights when he needed company most… Sure, he could be doing other things to distract himself right now. Playing guitar, hashing some code, watching a movie. But none of those things sounded appealing right now. He flopped over onto his stomach in bed, pulling his pillow over his head and suppressing a whine.

The soft putt-puttering of Bruce’s moped permeated the sack of feathers, causing Tony to bolt upright. He sped off and was already halfway down the stairs before the knock sounded on his front door. He hurried the rest of the way and swung the door open to reveal his friend. “Big guy!” he greeted enthusiastically, pulling him into a tight one-armed hug.

“Hey Tony,” Bruce responded with a weary but happy smile. He rubbed at an eye underneath his spectacles and stifled a yawn as he came inside and took off his shoes.

Tony shut the door. He looked his friend up and down, noticing the slump to his shoulders and the color under his eyes. “How you doing?” he inquired, perhaps a touch of concern to his voice. A _touch_. It wasn’t like he was trying to act like his mom or an over-concerned girlfriend or anything like that. But the big guy looked _beat_.

“Dragging ass…” Bruce admitted with a light chuckle. “It’s been a long week.”

Tony nodded. He could only imagine with those two extra courses. Then again, he’d be busy himself once he had a job on top of school. Tony cringed internally and kept the thought to himself. “We’ll take it easy tonight,” he declared. “Board game? Or we could just watch TV. I can grab a Monster out of the fridge for you if you want.”

“All of those would be good,” Bruce murmured, his focus on kneading the bridge of his nose where the pads of his glasses had been pressing in. Jesus, the guy was sexy even when he was on the verge of exhaustion.

Tony wet his lips, hesitating for an instant before making a split-second decision. He cut the silence with his voice. “I can give you a blow job too. If you want,” he added quickly.

Bruce lowered his hand from his face to fix a pointedly amused look Tony’s way. Where had _that_ come from? “Yeah. That’d be good too,” he responded.

“Awesome,” the billionaire’s son confirmed with a grin. “Meet you in the living room.” He made off for the kitchen, as much of a skip in his step as was possible at the late hour.

Bruce continued to chuckle, shaking his head at his friend’s effervescence as he wandered languidly to the sofa in front of the big screen. It was nice to see Tony in a good mood; Bruce was glad he’d come over-- the benefits he was soon to receive notwithstanding. He sat. His eyes dropped down to the front of his pants, momentarily considering unbuttoning them and pulling the zipper down so Tony would have one less thing to do, but he trained them in search of the remote instead.

“Pretty sure you know how to work our TV by now,” Tony called back towards the living room before pulling open the fridge door to procure a single can of Monster and a carton of orange juice, which he began to shake to re-suspend the pulp. “You’ve practically moved in as it is,” he teased as he retrieved a glass from the cupboard above the sink and poured himself a generous serving of OJ.

“We can all dream…” Bruce muttered under his breath, flicking the television on in front of him in an effort not to think about it. He channel-surfed a few moments before calling back, “Got any preferences?”

Tony chuckled. “SyFy, if there’s anything good on. If not there should be a few episodes of MythBusters recorded already on the DVR.” As he threw open the refrigerator door again to slide the orange juice carton back into its place, he was reminded briefly of how the space immediately behind it had once been the home of a bottle of expensive vodka. He’d had a real problem back then. It might still have been there today if Bruce wasn’t. His glance flickered back towards the living room, to Bruce, who was completely unaware of the growing swell of appreciation in Tony’s chest.

Another yawn escaped the exhausted teenager as he lowered the remote, having found an episode of Robot Combat League that would more than qualify as ‘good’ in Tony’s book.

The blaring of a formerly silent flatscreen reminded Tony that he still hadn’t put the carton away. He shook his head and did so, shutting the door to the fridge. He exhaled sharply and, juice in one hand, energy drink in the other, returned to the living room to set them down on the coffee table.

Bruce hummed and made a reach for his beverage, cracking it open with the green pop-top and taking a couple large glugs. Hopefully it would keep his eyes open for the drive back. He blinked twice, slowly, and took note of his friend’s drink choice, “Night cap?”

Tony froze before stammering corrections instinctively, “No. I don’t d-- I told you I’m not--”

“I know; I was kidding,” Bruce said, letting his hand fall on his friend’s shoulder to give him a brief shake. “But if you’d said yes…” he let out a chuckle in place of finishing that sentence and took another deep drink from his can before setting it back on the coffee table.

“Bruce…” Tony smiled, relieved, exasperated. He fumbled for an end to his own statement, but he couldn’t manage anything coherent. There was that swell in his chest again, and before the big guy knew what was happening, Tony had descended upon him, claiming his lips with a surprising amount of affection. Bruce was tired, but his brain had all the motor skills committed to muscle memory by this point and he kissed Tony back, sliding a hand up to cusp the back of his neck, tracing the point where his hairline ended. Well, so much for Robot Combat League.

Tony pulled back, his smile missing some of its usual smugness as he shifted his attention, dipping down to trace kisses down his friend’s neck from jaw to collarbone. Bruce hummed, sinking a bit lower into the couch, eyelids drooping somewhat, not from drowsiness but the onset of arousal. He reached over and clicked the volume down enough so he could hear the light smacking of his friend’s lips against his skin. If it weren’t for the caffeine gradually making its way through his system, he might not have noticed the deft fingers working the fastenings at the crotch of his pants. He pulled a deep breath in through his nostrils.

“Still awake?” Tony chuckled, slipping a hand under the waistband both teasingly and also to gauge the big guy’s arousal.

“Yeah…” Bruce responded, though the gravelled tone it carried sounded somewhat in opposition of the statement. He groaned a bit at the touch, head falling back against the couch cushion.

“Good,” Tony replied, retracting his hand to grip the waist of Bruce’s pants and tug. “Think you could help me with this?”

Sluggishly Bruce lifted his hips to take the weight off. Once his pants had been pulled halfway down his legs, he reached forward again to quickly take another chug of his energy drink, though not for long enough to interrupt the flow of events too much.

Tony returned his attention to Bruce’s neck. He trailed down slowly, one free hand idly fondling the other beneath the fabric of his boxers. Just above the sound of the stereo system, there was a noise in the distance-- of weight shifting on a hardwood floor. 

Bruce gave a groggy grunt, placing his palm on Tony’s forehead. “It sounds like your dad is up…” he told the other teen.

Tony didn’t relent, devilish smirk in place. “I didn’t hear anything,” he replied with as much sincerity as he could muster before pushing Bruce’s hand aside and returning to his former ministrations. The footsteps were getting closer. From the sound of it, the old man was probably heading to the fridge before bed.

“How can you not hear that?” Bruce hissed with a little more urgency now. “You’re going to get us caught.” He tried to pull his pants back up.

Tony snorted. “Relax. I told you I wasn’t going to get you in trouble again,” he reassured, but made a point of not moving.

“Then you’re going to need to get o--” Bruce began, halting mid-shove when Tony’s father appeared in the entryway. His eyes widened.

Howard stared sleepily at the two boys, unfazed. “We’re out of milk.”

“Oops?” Tony offered back dully, “There’s orange juice, if that helps.”

Howard let out a mix of a grumble and a murmur in response, before finally seeming to notice Bruce, who was petrified in his seat. “...Your fly’s down,” he commented aloofly.

“I-- I…” the high schooler stammered, turning pink. “M-mr. Stark… this… we…”

Howard snorted harshly after a beat to indicate that it had been a joke, much to Bruce’s perplexity. He turned towards the kitchen again, “Well, I’m turnin’ in. You boys have fun.”

“Night, Dad,” Tony called after him.

“You better not have been lying about those condoms, boy!” Howard called back as he drifted out of earshot.

“What the Hell was that?” Bruce frowned over at his friend. First his mom, then Betty, and now Mr. Stark. “Why didn’t you tell me he knew too?”

“I just found out today,” Tony shrugged with a roll of his eyes. “Plus it wasn’t the first thing that came to mind when I saw you in my doorway.” That itself was more of an understatement than Tony would care to admit.

Bruce sighed; he could understand that, but the scenario had given him a good scare nonetheless. He drug a hand through his hair. “Yeah, okay.”

“So, awake now?” Tony ribbed. He received a swat to the side of the head. “Ow! Okay, okay.” He rubbed the spot and paused, “You still want me to…?”

Bruce answered with a look over the ridge of his glasses.

“Gonna take that as a ‘yes’,” Tony smirked, moving in on the other boy again to nip his neck.

“Yes, it’s a yes,” Bruce snarked back with a light tug of one of his friend’s earlobes, a bit of his good humor returning. He wriggled his pants back off his hips.

Tony chose not to reply, instead opting to pick up where he left off. Of course he picked up the tempo just a bit to make up for the time lost, slipping his hand back into his friend’s boxers to get him back up to speed. As the member gradually grew in his grip, he found his salivary glands beginning to subconsciously secrete.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think your dad would be fine with it…” Bruce mused as he bucked into the circle of Tony’s hand. That awkward drive home after the bonfire fallout came to mind. “He asked me once if you and I…” he propped his tongue against the inner ridge of his bottom teeth, “were involved.”

Tony chuckled lightly, “Really?”

“Yeah. And for the record, I told him no.” He looked at his friend pointedly, holding his gaze a moment. “Because at the time, we weren’t.” He gave a hum, “That feels nice, by the way.”

“I would hope so,” Tony scoffed, then paused when it hit him exactly what the former statement was hinting at. “But by ‘involved’ what do--” he started and stopped asking all at once. No, Bruce probably just meant having sex.

“Hm?” the big guy vocalized.

“Nothing,” Tony dismissed. “Lay down,” he commanded.

The teen did as asked, stretching out lengthwise on the sofa. He muffled an involuntary yawn into his wrist. Tony was tempting fate putting him horizontal like this.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Tony warned, giving the big guy a pinch on the thigh.

He resisted the urge to kick. “I haven’t _yet_.”

“You _aren’t going to_ ,” Tony challenged, rolling Bruce’s waistband down and dipping his head to focus on the sleepy teen’s partial erection, bringing it to full attention with a few well-placed licks. Bruce pinched his lower lip between his teeth, reaching down to thread his fingers through his friend’s hair in anticipation.

Tony gave his friend another devilish smirk before taking the head into his mouth. This was, as always, worlds easier than talking about what was on his mind. Even disregarding his and Bruce’s relationship, there was still the greater worry of his arrhythmia. If he stopped to think about it too long, he could almost physically feel the anxiety grip his chest. He couldn’t tell Pepper, or his new friends. He definitely didn’t want to talk to his dad about it again so soon. And Bruce? Well the last thing he wanted to do was give his friend any more to worry about. Later. He'd definitely tell him later.

Bruce’s mind hadn’t exactly quieted either. He was still mulling over the fact that at least two out of three of their parents _knew_ about their involvement together. Aware it would be an interruption, he chose to ask anyway. “You’re not embarrassed at all that your dad knows we’re doing… this kind of thing?”

Tony lifted his head to answer, as well as give his jaw a rest while his hand filled in for the absence, “Not after what he told me _he’s_ done.” Or who, rather.

Bruce’s eyebrows both furrowed. “What did he tell you?”

The billionaire snorted. “If you plan on getting off tonight, you’re gonna want to save that story for later. Trust me.” Even mentioning it made him want to gag.

Bruce hummed, going quiet again. He wondered if Mr. Stark, like his mother, like Betty, thought he and Tony should be dating. Speaking of… the whole school week had gone by and Bruce hadn’t yet asked Tony if he’d like to go stargazing yet. The new moon was tomorrow and if he didn’t ask sometime tonight, the opportunity would be lost altogether. The thought caused a cloud of guilt to loom over his conscience, but that conscience was pretty easily forgotten when Tony’s warm mouth slid back around him.

Tony had returned his attention twofold to his friend’s manhood, now using both his mouth and hand. “G-god yeah, Tony, that’s good…” Bruce’s heels pressed down into the couch cushions to push his hips upward.

Tony hummed around Bruce’s length, the other teen’s reaction anticipated and accommodated for in a heartbeat. It was certainly a gratifying experience, even now, to hear and feel Bruce enjoying the act this much. He held onto that thought as he bobbed his head up and down, a little lower each time, cheeks hollowing.

Bruce whimpered rapturously, fingers twisting in his friend’s short hair. He hadn’t even expressed an interest in receiving head, but Tony’s interest was clear from the way he was basically going to town on him. It almost made him wonder where the generosity was coming from... almost. “Slower…” he prompted breathlessly, wanting to last, “and look up at me.”

Tony obliged, locking lust-clouded eyes with Bruce as he slowed down. The look on the other teen’s face was encouragement enough; to know and take pride in the fact that the pleasure written all over his partner’s face was there because he put it there. Nobody else had, and nobody else _would_ if Tony had any say in the matter. It was an uncharacteristically possessive feeling, but nonetheless it burned through him and drove him to continue, reveling in the responses his actions drew from the man beneath him.

“Fuck…” Bruce groaned as Tony’s lower lip drug over the underside of his cock. But his gaze wasn’t singularly on his friend’s mouth-- it was on the whole picture. “Can I say I love looking down at you whenever we do this?” he mumbled the question, sifting his fingers yet again through the other teen’s hair.

Tony hummed a reply, unwilling to lift his mouth away as his hands traced up the contours of his partner’s sides, sliding the cornsilk yellow button-up upwards to glide them over Bruce’s skin. The big guy’s chest was starting to rise and fall quicker each time Tony slid his mouth down, and his fingers and toes were curling with frequent small whines. “A-almost there…” he breathed.

God, if that tone wasn’t still as much of a turn on as the first time he’d done this. Tony would have smirked if his mouth wasn’t busy with more important tasks. He took the warning as encouragement and continued with increasing determination, hand twisting just a little as it followed along with his mouth. He wanted this climax even more now than when he’d started. It didn’t bother him in the slightest that Bruce was going to be the only one getting off; in fact, he was pretty sure he was enjoying this more than if he would have been in his friend’s place. He wanted-- no, _needed_ to feel like he was the only one who could do this for the other teen. Right now he needed that reassurance... to know that Bruce needed him, because it was getting harder not to remind himself how much he needed Bruce.

“Oh God… oh God, Tony…!” Bruce gasped out. “Tony!” he gave one last exclamation before he threw his head back. His hips jerked with the spasms of his groin and he huffed through grit teeth as he came down from orgasm’s precipice.

Tony swallowed greedily, only removing his mouth once he was certain there was no more to be had. He tucked Bruce back into his boxers and glanced back up; he tried to suppress a chuckle at the spent form beneath him. “Good?” he hummed as he settled on the couch atop the big guy, resting his head on the gently rising and falling chest.

Bruce groaned. “Fuck. Yeah... Yeah, that was a really good way to end the week...” he said with no exaggeration.

Tony said nothing for a few moments, getting comfortable as the almost silent sound of their breathing overtook the foreground. After a short time had passed, that wicked smirk twisted his lips upward once again, “...would you be interested in taking a ten minute survey?”

Bruce’s eyelids fluttered back open. “Everything was a five, for outstanding.”

Tony snorted, “Must have been. Normally you would have hit me for that.”

“I hit you for too many things,” Bruce said in a rare moment of typically hidden depth, though his tone remained insouciant in an attempt to downplay the sentiment. “Come here,” he took hold of the other boy’s chin and brought him into an appreciative kiss.

Tony didn’t clue in, but melted into the kiss anyway, pulling back with a smile moments later and sitting up. If they weren’t careful, they would both fall asleep here. “Glad you liked it.”

“Uh huh,” Bruce vocalized, skimming his hands up and down his friend’s thighs. “Kind of wondering what I’m going to get Monday.” He smirked nearly imperceivably.

Tony chuckled, “It’s official: I’m spoiling you.”

“You’re the one who said we could have fun every night if it weren’t for the voice in the back of my head,” Bruce posed matter-of-factly, still squeezing the flesh of the other teen’s thighs.

“Huh… I did say that, didn’t I? It was awhile ago,” Tony nodded thoughtfully before gesturing. “Well, I had been hoping to dominate you come Monday, but I think there might be time to squeeze that in tonight, if you can stay awake.”

Bruce licked his lips. “I think I could manage that.”

“Great,” Tony grinned. “I’ll go grab the chess board.”

Bruce gave a hard blink that looked like he was trying to manually reset his brain after a mental blue screen. “ _Chess?_ ”

“Yes, chess. You play, right?” He moved for the cabinet.

“Yeah, I play chess; I thought you meant-- nevermind,” Bruce cleared his throat and sat upright, grabbing for the rest of his energy drink.

“It was intentional. God, you _must_ be tired if you missed that. Sure you’re gonna be okay to drive home later?” He stretched up to pull it down off of Parcheesi.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Bruce said, setting the drained aluminum can back down on its coaster. He _had_ to be. The scale of lie he’d have to fabricate to explain his absence until the next morning would be unfathomable. He pushed his glasses up onto his forehead and rubbed his eyes again.

“Good,” Tony replied, returning with the aforementioned chess board, “Because I have no intention of going easy on you. Seriously, you’re gonna wanna bite down on something.”

Bruce snorted, his brain gradually rising to the challenge presented to it. “You’re going to feel like an ass when you run out of steam halfway through and have to forfeit your position,” he jockeyed.

“How about you put your brain where your mouth is,” Tony volleyed back, leveling his friend a challenging stare as he unfolded the board and placed it on the coffee table between them.

“Better than if I put it where _your_ mouth used to be,” Bruce zing’d.

Tony snorted, setting out the two tins containing their pieces, “Alright, smartass, pick a color.”

The teen selected the tin of black pieces, already bidding his confidence by giving Tony first move advantage; he began to arrange them on his side of the board. “For the record, black and white aren’t colors-- they’re shades.”

“Oh _Hell_ no. If we get into _that_ nonsense debate I swear I’m gonna end up smacking you,” Tony warned playfully.

Bruce hummed and placed his last piece, the queen, on her designated black square. “Your start.”

The goateed boy smirked and jumped his knight out from the line of pawns, beginning the game in earnest.

\--

Bruce evaluated the current state of the chess board. His brow was twisted with cogitation, though not over his next move; the game had been on the periphery of his thought for the past fifteen or twenty minutes. What he _was_ thinking about was the boy sitting across from him, waiting for him to make his play. For lack of anything better, Bruce pushed a pawn forward a square. He worried his lower lip. “Tony, I’ve actually been doing some thinking…”

“You usually are,” Tony pointed out as he jumped a knight over to threaten the piece that had moved toward his side of the board.

The teen gave an awkward clearing of his throat. “Yeah, but I’ve been thinking… about us,” he forced out. He slid a bishop diagonally to protect his pawn.

Tony froze, “Oh.” He swallowed roughly and attempted to sound collected and calm. He could only think of two reasons Bruce would be starting this, and he wasn’t prepared for _either_. He made a move elsewhere on the board. “And what about us, exactly?”

“It was something my mom brought up…” Bruce tested his tongue against the inside of his cheek. _‘Over a week ago,’_ his brain added, but he tried to ignore it. “Um…” He looked away from the game and down at his lap. _‘Do it. You can do it. You_ have _to do it.’_ “Are you… doing anything this weekend?” It was an illogical question really. He knew for a fact that Tony was liable to be just as available as any other weekend, and it went without saying that they were probably going to spend it hanging out. Actually _asking_ just made it… weird.

Tony stared at Bruce incredulously as the reality of what his friend was asking dawned upon him. If he’d been any less dignified, his jaw would have hit the table. He stayed that way for a good five seconds before a chortle escaped his throat. “Bruce, are you-- You’re asking me out?”

The other boy recoiled. “No,” escaped him first, even though yes, that was the contextual implication of his prior question and now that Tony had called him out on it, he was already getting cold feet. “No, I’m-- I’m just asking if you’re doing anything.”

Tony’s face fell briefly, but he made every effort not to let it show. “No, I’m not doing anything. Are you?” he inquired back.

“Just homework,” Bruce answered. He was quiet a moment before going on. “I thought maybe we could go somewhere or… something. You know, instead of staying in.” He shrugged and captured one of Tony’s pieces.

“Yeah, sure,” Tony shrugged. “You have somewhere in mind?” He avenged his piece by taking one of Bruce’s.

“Um… well…” the teen twiddled his thumbs anxiously, fighting a blush as he recalled the directions Betty had sent him, “The top of Halcyon Hill has really good star-visibility this time of year, and the weather forecast says the sky is going to be clear tomorrow night. Not to mention, it’s a new moon.”

“Cool, sounds good,” Tony nodded, his focus back on the game. “I’ll shoot Betty a text; she’d been saying we should all get together again. I mean, book club is on Sunday and all, but still.” He fished the phone from his jean pocket. “You think Jane would want in?” he asked as he buffed the screen with his shirt sleeve before powering it out of sleep mode, “I don’t know her that well, but I heard she just got a new telescope and--”

Bruce’s hand came down on Tony’s phone before the other boy could so much as navigate to his contact list. He gave a cough.

“Big guy, I’m trying to--” Tony began, trying to free the device enough to see what he was doing, but Bruce wasn’t letting go, “What the Hell is your _problem?_ ”

“I… I want it to be just you and I,” he admitted.

Tony’s chest pounded (in the metaphorical sense, thank God), and he realized exactly what was going on. Bruce _was_ asking him out. But the teen was either too self-conscious or awkward to do it properly. Well, far be it from Tony to torture the other teen over it. He hid his smirk as he slid his phone back into his pocket and leaned back to cross an ankle over his knee. “Oh okay. So it’s guys’ night. Sounds just as good; count me in.”

Bruce’s face twitched. “Tony…” he began, half wanting to explain, but half willing to let it slide because that would be a whole lot less awkward. But Betty had told him to be honest with Tony and he was going to do just that. He sighed. “I like you a lot, okay? I love you. I _guess_ I’m asking you out, but I don’t want you to think we’re--” that sentence got cut short when it was stolen from him with a press of the other boy’s lips.

“It’s fine,” Tony reassured as he pulled back. His eyes were wide and brimming with sentiment, “I’d love to go.”

Bruce hadn’t been expecting that. He breathed out a huge sigh of relief, smiling a tad, glad they were at an understanding. “Okay,” he confirmed, pushing up his glasses. He returned the kiss on the other boy’s temple. He pulled back his sleeve to look at his watch. “I should probably head out soon. I’m starting to run out of excuses to tell my dad though. Got any ideas?” He slid his rook in to put his friend’s king in temporary check.

Tony scratched his goatee thoughtfully, as he barricaded the rook’s would-be winning trajectory with his other knight. “Would it be completely out of the ordinary for one of your professors to keep you after class for anything?”

“I guess that could work…” Bruce nodded, thinking about it. Honestly, if he’d known that it was this easy to lie his way out of trouble, he might have started a lot sooner. The teen snorted at the very thought. Bruce stood to grab up his backpack from the floor and leaned over to peck his friend on the forehead again, “Thanks.”

“Where do you think you’re going? The game’s not over,” Tony protested, gesturing over the chessboard.

Bruce blinked, focusing back on the pieces. “Oh. Sorry.” He whisked his queen across a few squares, “Checkmate.”

“You… you son of a bitch…” Tony sounded out after at least ten seconds of gaping to visually confirm the claim, “You were barely even looking.”

“Game winning strategy,” Bruce explained, ruffling his friend’s hair. “Don’t feel bad; Mom and Dad had me playing when I was four.”

Tony worried his lip briefly, the words reminding him, “Yeah, but listen; if you’re starting to run out of good excuses for your dad, maybe we shouldn’t…”

“Shouldn’t what?” Bruce’s eyebrow twitched upward semi-accusingly.

Tony swallowed the ‘see each other as often’ that had been at the end of that sentence. “Nothing, it’s just that as much as your old man can go fuck himself, I don’t want him to find out about this and then make it worse for you.” Tony shuddered, imagining rides home from school, chaperoned visits, _hourly phone calls_. Talk about a nightmare.

The big guy rubbed both temples with his fore and middle fingertips. “I know the risks, alright? I consider it ‘worth it’. But if you want me to stop coming over--”

“You know that’s not what I want,” Tony interjected calmly, making his best attempt to diffuse the situation before it actually _became_ a situation. “And if you’re not worried... neither am I,” he delivered with the practiced sincerity and aloofness of any one of his bigger lies. Not that he expected to be called out on it. It was what Bruce wanted to hear.

Bruce shook his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow. When do you think I should pick you up?”

“Preferably after sundown,” Tony teased, “Not too many stars come out in the morning anymore. Just the one.”

Bruce snorted a half-laugh and gave his friend a sock on the arm. “Yeah, thanks, genius. Of course I know you’re aware that they’re _always_ there but the intensity of the sun’s light prevents us from seeing them. Six work?”

Tony’s heart pitter-pattered again; he nodded. “Yeah, six works,” he agreed with unequivocal smoothness. “And to the other: duh.”

Six o’clock tomorrow night. That gave him approximately eighteen hours to make his and Bruce’s first date unforgettable.


	48. Chapter 48

Bruce couldn’t help but take another quick glance at his watch as he put the last bite of his mom’s shrimp quiche in his mouth. 5:40. He had five minutes to be out the door and on his way. As soon as he chewed and swallowed, he spoke up, “May I be excused?”

Both parents had taken notice of his hurry during dinner, but hadn’t sought to comment. Brian’s chewing slowed. “Of course, sweetheart, just remember to put your dishes in the sink,” Rebecca was first to give permission, smiling at her son.

Bruce was up in an eyeblink. Quick detour to the kitchen, and then en route to his bedroom. Moments later he was headed for the garage, shrugging his bomber jacket on over both shoulders.

“Bruce,” his father’s voice stopped him dead in his tracks just as he was reaching for the doorknob. The teen muttered a silent curse. “Why don’t you tell your mother and I where you’re going?” the man spoke.

As much as the high schooler didn’t want to admit it, his father’s inquiry wasn’t an unreasonable one. Bruce retracted his hand from the knob grudgingly and moved back into the dining room where they could talk without shouting across the house. He looked from his mother’s expectant face to his father’s stern one. “I was going to pick Tony up and go out to Halcyon Hill to do some stargazing,” he explained softly.

From across the room he saw his mother’s face light up, and she put her hand to her chest to stifle a coo. “That sounds like an absolutely wondrous time!” she said.

“It sounds like time you both could be spending on things of greater importance,” Brian corrected with a snort.

Bruce fiddled with the zipper at the bottom of his coat and looked at the ground. Yeah, he could think of about three separate homework assignments he was actually putting aside for tonight, that _could_ be completed tonight if he wasn’t taking Tony out. … Going out with Tony. Going with Tony out somewhere. God, why did _every_ way to phrase it sound like they were going on a date??

“Brian, it’s good for Bruce to have a little fun now and again,” Rebecca said to her husband.

The man grumbled and shovelled another bite into his mouth. “I suppose.”

The teen blinked. It was odd... seeing first-hand this change in dynamic between his parents that had been gradually developing. Where before he might have told her to hold her tongue, he was listening, even backing down. And where his mother had once taken a backseat to enforcing the rules, she was now stepping up to the plate.

The woman looked back at her son, “How long do you intend to be out, dear? I assume Tony’s father is alright with it?”

Bruce scratched the back of his head. “Yeah,” he responded-- though really, who knew if Tony had _ever_ asked his dad if he could do something. After that crazy New Years party, was there anything Mr. Stark wouldn’t allow? Not to mention his mom had to be crazy herself, bringing up Tony’s dad in front of his father. He focused on the question before it, “Probably a few hours.”

“This is something you should have told your mother and I prior to making solid plans,” Brian’s face was one of a man who was not at all pleased. Bruce’s gut clenched. If he was about to be told he couldn’t go out and he’d end up having to tell Tony the whole thing was off… (and furthermore _Betty_ ; if she’d been livid before...)

He let his head hang. “I’m sorry, sir; I’ll remember in the future.”

His father’s mouth curled in a disbelieving snarl-- though, with how many curfews Bruce had broken lately, why _would_ the man believe him? Bruce wouldn’t believe himself at this point were he in his father’s position.

“That would be very appreciated, sweetheart,” his mother responded. Bruce let out a silent sigh; he began to turn around to get going.

“I don’t recall saying you were dismissed,” Brian halted him yet again.

“Sorry, sir…” Bruce mumbled, lackluster.

“I have one final question before you are permitted to go,” Brian said. Bruce waited, gnawing the side of his lower lip. The man’s eyes locked with his. “Do you have all your homework done?”

Bruce sucked in a breath. This question could make it or break it, and it was all too liable to break it. “No, sir,” he answered honestly; he made sure to transition quickly, “But I’ve got all of tomorrow--”

“Your studies are important, Bruce,” the man forged forward, “You _know_ that they are. And if you intended to go out tonight, you should have made a greater effort to complete them beforehand, rather than sleep half the day away.”

The teen felt himself visibly cringe. He _had_ slept in until nearly one in the afternoon thanks to five days with not nearly enough sleep; his body _needed_ the recharge. If he’d stuck to his curfew the past few nights, it wouldn’t have happened. Then again, if he’d just been allowed to spend the night at Tony’s or vice versa, then the issue wouldn’t have been there to begin with; he would’ve gotten to bed at a reasonable hour. Not that his father was going to understand that logic. “I’ll get everything done tomorrow,” he said firmly, dancing on the edge of anger. He was going out with Tony, he didn’t care _what_ his old man said or what cockamamie rules he tried to enforce upon him.

“That had best be the truth, Bruce.” There were the dangerous underpinnings of vehemence in those words, enough to compel him to take a slow step backward. He could tell his father was seething, and if it weren’t for the presence of his wife, Bruce would be getting the verbal upbraiding of his life. “I won’t tolerate any slacking off in this household. You had a long winter break to enjoy yourself, but now it’s time for you to re-focus on furthering your education. No excuses.”

Yeah. A long winter break. A _third_ of which he’d been grounded for. Bruce huffed.

“Your father has a legitimate point, dear,” his mother backed up her husband, though her words were softer, gentler… eyes pleading with him to keep control of his fury. “Please understand we are being very lenient in letting you go out tonight. We want the very best for you.”

Bruce just gave a dull nod. He gave her a parting kiss on the cheek.

“Have a good time, darling,” the woman swept his hair back and picked a piece of lint off his button-up shirt, fussing over him just mildly. “Tell me all about it when you get home. We’ll have a cup of tea, you and me.”

Bruce put on a smile in spite of the several conflicting emotions her suggestion incurred.

\--

Bruce coasted to a slow enough speed to put his foot down on the dirt road. There were more switchbacks on the route than Betty had indicated, and what with being a little late to pick his friend up, dusk was rapidly beginning to fade from the sky. Overhead a couple of points of light were prominently visible to the eye-- planets. Mars and Jupiter it looked like. The teen flicked the headlamp off on his moped and cut the ignition. “Here we are.”

“Okay, how did I not know about this place already?” Tony craned his neck as he took a big sweeping look at the darkening sky around them, then at the landscape around them, “And how does nobody else? We can’t be the only two people in the tri-city area that like stargazing.” He poked his chin over Bruce’s shoulder and raised a suspicious eyebrow, “Did you put up a sign saying it was a dangerous nuclear test site or something?”

“Must just be lucky,” Bruce’s chuckle tapered off awkwardly, not unaware that his friend’s arms were still around him. Which felt nice, but he was determined to keep this outing from seeming too… date-like despite all appearances. He shifted to get off his bike.

Tony followed suit, hands dropping to his sides and slipping into his jean pockets before thinking better of it just in case Bruce wanted him to help lay out the blanket or anything.

Bruce wandered a few steps, turning 360° idly. “Here good?”

Tony took a moment to scan the surrounding area, before manually turning Bruce a few degrees counter-clockwise and pushing him a few feet forward, “Here’s better.”

The teen chuckled, a bit confused by the slight adjustment, but not protesting it. “Alright.” He unzipped his backpack, pulling out the blanket they’d brought from Tony’s. “You want to…?” he left the question hanging as he unfurled it, holding onto a couple corners.

Tony held Bruce’s gaze just a bit longer than he’d been really meaning to, and he answered, embarrassed once he realized what was being asked of him. “Oh. Yeah, sure,” he nodded, taking the other two corners and stepping back to spread the blanket out. It was the same one they’d used for the bonfire. Tony’d packed it specifically, kind of hoping Bruce would notice.

Bruce knelt down to smooth a few of the most egregious wrinkles out, then began removing more things that had been stuffed into his backpack: star charts, astronomy books, a flashlight. Tony tilted his head with a smile; it was cute. “You know, I have an app for all of that.”

“Yeah?” Bruce looked at him, “And what are you going to do when the screen ruins your night vision?” He flicked his red-filtered flashlight off and on. “Some things have no replacement.”

Tony sighed, plopping down on one corner of the blanket once it was smoothed out. “Hey now, just because I’m pro-tablet doesn’t mean I’m anti-paperback. I’ve got loads of books at home-- you’ve seen ‘em. I’m just saving them for a rainy day. Or the nuclear holocaust. You know, whichever strikes first,” he shrugged.

He at least got a chuckle out of the big guy, who laid out on his back. “Sorry,” he apologized as he lifted his arms to rest his hands behind his head, “you just never struck me as an advocate for anything that didn’t run on electricity.”

“Bruce, please,” Tony rolled his eyes, joining his friend out flat on the blanket. “I might have a bit of a tech-boner, but I’m not driving around in a Prius. Nothing’s ever gonna beat the roar of a V-8, 320 horsepower gasoline engine. And just cuz the electric guitar is my go-to gal doesn’t mean the acoustic doesn’t get a little action from time to time.”

Bruce felt a grin creep onto his features. “I take it back, you know when the classics outshine the latest and greatest.”

He was well on his way toward rambling now. “I mean, aside from medical science, sometimes I think innovation could probably stand to slow down for a little while. You know, give people our age more to freak out about in ten or twenty years,” Tony chuckled, lying back slowly and pulling his arms behind his head. And he was saying that as an aspiring inventor.

Bruce nudged his friend with his elbow suddenly, pointing upward. “Hey look. Satellite. One of yours?” he asked with a grin.

“You know, I’ll be damned if I can’t read the logo from here…” Tony responded, faking a squint. The moving point of light gradually faded out to a higher orbit as he followed it with his eyes. Quite a few brighter stars were becoming visible now in the progressively deepening purple sky.

Bruce dug back into his backpack. A moment later he was offering his friend a pair of binoculars. Tony took them gladly, using them to pan the night sky much in the same way as he did earlier without the enhancement. “You know, you wouldn’t expect these to work so well…” he thought out loud as he pointed them inconspicuously in the direction of the high school. Still all clear. A little over an hour to show time. He hid his grin.

“A single order of magnitude,” Bruce smiled, taking them back to peer at the blue-white supergiant Rigel.

“I guess it makes all the difference,” Tony responded with a nod. In the lull he turned his head to study the other teen’s profile as he was immersed in the stars overhead, the binoculars to his face. Tony couldn’t help that he felt like it was as good a view as the sky was. Truth was he felt like he never got enough opportunities like this to just admire the big guy up close, uninterrupted or without something else to distract him. Appreciate all the little details. Like that rare little smile at the corners of his full lips. Tony pulled his gaze away eventually to focus it back on the stars, enjoying the joint solitude being up on the hill gave them.

It took Bruce some time to realize how absorbed he’d gotten in the celestial objects, lowering the binoculars embarrassedly. “Sorry, did you want them again?” he asked, holding them out. “Betty and I used to have our own pairs so it kind of slipped my mind...” he trailed off with a chuckle.

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony dismissed, “And how many times is it now I’ve told you to stop saying ‘sorry’?”

“Yeah, right, okay,” Bruce nodded. “I just… well, I want to make sure you’re having a good time.”

“Of course I am,” Tony scoffed, shoving Bruce’s shoulder playfully, “So you and Betty did this a lot?”

“Well, no…” Bruce cleared his throat. “I mean, yes. In the backyard. It wasn’t really the same… as this.”

“Yeah? So how long’s it been?” Tony asked, always curious to know more about the big guy.

“I don’t really know; it’s not too important,” he shrugged off. “I’m just glad--” he froze up upon finding eye-contact with the other boy, “Nevermind.” Finishing that sentence would definitely be stringing Tony along.

“Glad what?” the other teen pressed interestedly.

Did Tony have to ask like that? Bruce supposed he did. A fleeting anxiety fluttered in his stomach. He had been about to say ‘I have you.’ but he chose to say “That you said yes to coming tonight. It’s... been awhile since I went stargazing with anyone,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “Backyard or not.”

Tony’s dark brown eyes glimmered and he pecked his partner on the mouth.

Time stretched on silently for a while after that, and Tony had no reason to doubt that it was a mutually peaceful silence. Time was mostly spent with Bruce pointing out various star groupings and listing off facts about each one. It was cute to see the big guy get so excited over it, face lighting up with childhood nostalgia more and more frequently as the night wore on. It was pretty easy to lose track of time altogether. His phone vibrated. That should be his thirty minute warning. Tony smirked again and clicked his tongue, interjecting, “So did I tell you that Hammer’s been trying to ruin my reputation again?”

Bruce lowered his binoculars, recalling the Glendale student whom he’d sent sprawling at the bonfire. “You did not,” he answered, sensing a story was to follow.

“Well, I guess it slipped my mind, considering nine times out of ten he’s pretty much useless at everything, this most recent instance being no exception. Anyway, he’s been spamming all of my online accounts. Like every last one of them. Even the old livejournal account that I haven’t used since sixth grade. When he saw I wasn’t answering, he started harassing admins in forums and shit and trying to get me banned everywhere. Of course it was always via anonymous messages or alternate accounts, but even if I couldn’t track his IP, you could tell it was him. Same sentence structure, same self-satisfied smugness, same stench of desperation in every message. Not to mention, who the fuck else calls me ‘Mr. Stark’?”

Bruce felt himself chuckle lightly, giving a stretch on the blanket before scratching an itch on his right side. “So you’re telling me that after the bonfire bombing blew up in his face, he resorted to cyber-bullying?”

“Yeah, I guess you could call it that. What’s funny is I could easily get him IP banned everywhere myself. It wouldn’t even take me a whole afternoon to lock up every account he has, all the way back to Neopets. I have something better in mind, though. Nobody fucks with Tony Stark.”

“Well, I seem to get away with it,” Bruce’s lip twisted with a grin as he rolled onto his side to face his friend and paw a hand up his chest. As much as laying out here alone under the cover of the stars _wasn’t_ a date, he wasn’t going to downplay his attraction for the other boy.

“You’re a special exception,” Tony countered with a purr, cupping a hand around the back of Bruce’s neck and pulling their faces closer.

“I like that…” Bruce murmured, setting the binoculars aside and closing the rest of the distance. The air around them was cold, and Tony’s nose was cool to the touch, but his lips were warm against his own. Their bodies naturally molded to one another, legs interleaving. It only took a few minutes for the hot puffs of air escaping their opening and closing mouths to fog the lenses of Bruce’s glasses, rendering his vision mostly obscured. He had plenty of other stimuli to focus on though, like trailing his hands up and down the other teen’s slim sides and listening to the light warble each caress brought from his friend’s throat.

Tony chuckled lightly when he noticed, using his thumb and forefinger to nudge the fogged up lenses further up to rest on Bruce’s forehead. Normally the lack of corrective lenses would have rendered Tony an indistinguishable blur in the background, but their close proximity eliminated any of the problems his near-sightedness would have presented. “Thanks,” Bruce hummed appreciatively.

“Couldn’t see your eyes,” Tony breathed out, words ghosting over his friend’s lips, going in for a few more hungry kisses before continuing, “It was bothering me.”

“It’s not bothering you that my whole head is blocking your view of the stars?” Bruce asked a bit cheekily when he’d managed to momentarily detach.

“Killing me, _clearly_ ,” Tony deadpanned.

Bruce laughed and rolled back over onto his back, returning his glasses to their resting place on his nose. They had come to stargaze after all, not make-out. He pawed around for one of his other star charts and the flashlight, sitting up.

Tony blinked, wide-eyed and a bit confused. Part of him expected the big guy to put the moves on him again. After all, they’d both been kind of defaulting to making out and sex the past few days. Hell, part of him had kind of _hoped_ the big guy would-- there was a condom in his wallet waiting for a reason. Sex required a lot less thinking, especially the kind of thinking they were both likely to be avoiding presently. It was weird to see Bruce move on to something else so casually.

The billionaire cleared his throat and attempted to do the same. “So uh, what’re we gonna look at now?”

Bruce hummed. “I don’t know. Is there anything specific you want to see?” he asked, clicking the flashlight on to illuminate the map he was now holding.

Tony scooched closer, putting his chin on the big guy’s shoulder to peer at the circular diagram with a thoughtful ‘hm’. “How’s about the constellations for our star signs?” He traced the tip of his nose along the ridge of the other teen’s ear.

Bruce wet his lips, trying to ignore the closeness of his friend and the implications of said closeness. “For me that’s Cancer, the crab,” he kept the circle of red light on the page with one hand, while the other traced across a five-star Y-like pattern, signifying it. “And for you that’s Aries, right?”

“Yeah.”

“The ram.” Bruce drew his finger along the four-stars in a slightly bent line. It was one of the more difficult constellations to find, not composed of particularly bright stars nor in a uniquely distinguishable pattern.

His friend snorted, “The animal or the verb?”

“Technically, both,” Bruce responded with a shake of his head. He consulted the map before looking up, searching the east sky. “We’re looking for the Seven Sisters. It’s a six-star cluster.”

Tony’s eyes followed Bruce’s gaze, attempting to spot the formation, “So what happened to the seventh one?”

“She’s there, but she’s not visible without magnification,” Bruce explained. “Same with her mom who’s just above Atlas, but…” he trailed off suddenly when he spotted the dipper-esque cluster. “There they are. See?” he pointed, letting his friend align his vision down his arm.

Tony hummed, narrowing his eyes until the cluster came into focus, “Ahh, yeah I see it.” He grabbed the binoculars to search for the seventh.

“Okay…” Bruce hmm’d, looking back down at the map in his lap to gauge the distance between stars on the page relative to their positions in the sky. “Hamal should be to the east; it’s yellow.”

Tony panned his vision slowly east. “That one?” he asked, lowering the binoculars and pointing.

Bruce adjusted his glasses upward to confirm. “Yeah, that’s it.”

“Oh wow, did I seriously find it first?”

“Guess so,” Bruce grinned. “Now just connect the dots: there’s two crooked to the right and one further off on the left. And that’s your constellation.”

Tony’s face twisted in concentration for a few minutes, “Okay either I’m doing this wrong, or this constellation looks nothing like a ram.”

Bruce laughed. “Yeah well, a lot of them are like that.” He flicked his friend’s nose lightly. “You have to use your imagination.”

“Well that’s a rip-off,” Tony grumbled, sticking his tongue out, “Who in the Hell decided that looked like a ram? I mean, even with the imagination of a three year old that’s questionable as Hell.”

“Some ancient Greek astronomer,” the other teen shrugged.

“Who’s long dead by now, meaning I have no one to forward my complaints to.”

“Sorry, no refunds,” Bruce joked. “If it makes you feel any better, mine doesn’t look much like a crab either.” He found and pointed to it with reasonable ease, having its position memorized like Taurus, Betty’s star sign.

“Not much consolation, but it’ll have to do,” Tony shrugged as he folded his arms. He looked Bruce’s direction and licked his lips. “So, how compatible are we? You know, if you believe in all that horoscope crap.”

Bruce coughed into a fist. “That’s not really…” He stopped. Had he been about to say ‘relevant’? Was he entertaining this question as seriously as Tony probably was? _‘You don’t want to string him along,’_ Betty’s voice reminded him. “Well, it’s not unheard of, but it’s widely known as one of the more… turbulent pairings.”

Tony let out a chortle, “No shit?” If that wasn’t clear from the rough spots in their friendship. Relationship, as of tonight. When Bruce didn’t seem to be responding, he cleared his throat and began to fill the silence. “Not like I really believe in star signs anyway. I kind of feel like it’s an easy way to brush off some of our more grating behaviors as human beings. Easier to blame our personality faults and bad breakups on the stars than figure out what we did wrong and learn from it for the sake of personal growth.” He gestured widely towards the sky as he continued, realizing he was getting really riled up, “I mean hey, the stars are all the way out there, right? How are they gonna argue with us?” He let out a sigh and plopped backwards onto the blanket, “But I guess if by some off-chance they actually are right, it’s nice to know things’ll never be boring for us.” He nuzzled himself into the big guy’s side, seeking out the emotional comfort.

Bruce felt his lip twitch and a nervousness settle in his gut at that word… ‘us’. _‘Be honest with him.’_ he recalled Betty’s words. “Tony, we…” he didn’t get much farther.

“Listen, it’s stupid. Forget I brought it up.” Tony knew full well by now the weight of a man’s choices. He’d been presented one: elect for surgery, or wait until it was a final resort. As such, he really didn’t want to think about the concept of predetermined patterns and fates, that he could have once considered his own destiny to have fallen upon the alignment of stars. The truth was he was even more aware of his mortality now than before he’d known about the ARC reactor, when he’d mistakenly thought he had no power over his condition.

“Tony…” Bruce repeated with concern.

He shook his head roughly and pressed his hand onto Bruce’s. “Important thing is we’re here now, right? Together.”

Bruce’s forehead furrowed at the touch. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but I have to tell you…”

“ _What?_ ” Tony shot back.

The teen exhaled roughly. This really, really wasn’t going to be easy, but it needed to be said or Tony was going to keep on thinking this was a date. “I can’t date you,” he delivered.

Tony gaped for a second, thrown for a loop. That felt entirely unprompted. And then it sank in, and suddenly it felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He swallowed and choked his next few words out, “I wasn’t even talking about that, but okay.” Where had that statement even come from? Tony felt his eyes mist. Was that why he hadn’t wanted Betty or Jane to come? “Were you... inviting me up here to-- to tell me…?”

Bruce froze a moment, realizing that it probably seemed _exactly_ like he’d done that. “No,” he stumbled out, trying to explain himself. “I-- I just wanted to go out with you and enjoy ourselves… I didn’t think we’d actually talk about...” He trailed off again. He had to seem like the biggest jerk right now and he was already hating himself for bringing it up. It could have waited. At least until the night was over. Or sometime next week.

The back of Tony’s throat was starting to prickle and he could feel his sinuses swelling. He wanted to ask why. He really, really wanted to ask why, but he just couldn’t form the word. He cleared his throat and held his hands up dismissively, “It’s okay. It’s fine. Really.” It wasn’t even close to okay, but if there was any hope of Bruce changing his mind later on, he’d have to try not to complicate this. If they fought now the bridge might be burnt beyond disrepair. God, what the Hell was he going to tell Pepper? Or Betty? Or his own fucking father. How was he going to cope--

No. Now wasn’t the time to panic. He needed to keep his cool. As best he could.

Everything about Tony’s body language said the exact opposite, and Bruce had to force himself not to ask if he was okay. He knew it couldn’t have been an easy truth for Tony to hear; it would probably be awhile before he recovered from it. Bruce turned his head away from the other teenager, guilt-ridden.

Tony felt his phone vibrate, and pulled it out to check, relieved for the momentary distraction. It was the second alarm: _‘Fifteen minutes.’_ He scoffed and wiped an eye.

The small noise drew Bruce’s head back up. He looked at his friend mildly questioningly.

“Nothing. Pepper sent me a cat picture,” he lied. It was supposed to be a surprise anyway. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Yeah, anything,” Bruce agreed readily.

For a long moment Tony lay silent, genuinely entertaining the idea of telling Bruce what he’d learned about his condition, and the ARC, since his last checkup. One one hand, it might relieve some of the anxiety he was feeling, and on the other, it might only serve to upset him more. He clicked his tongue three times, not pulling his gaze from the sky directly above him as he spoke, “So, you said you wanted to be an astronaut when you were little?”

Bruce rubbed at the side of his nose, perhaps bashfully, but mostly glad for the change in subject. “Aeronautics engineer. Probably wouldn’t have ended up in space myself.”

“But… that’s so…” Tony shook his head, “You were a kid. Come on. Don’t tell me you never thought of being the guy who actually got to set foot on Mars, or live on the International Space Station, or something.”

Bruce smiled slightly, lacing his fingers to twiddle his thumbs. “First day of Space Camp I threw up on the simulator.”

Tony hummed, “Okay, first let me say how jealous I am that you actually got to go to Space Camp. And second, I don’t see how you couldn’t have grown into the role. I mean if a wuss like Steve can get through basic training I’m pretty sure you could be an astronaut.”

“That’s okay. The space program is basically dead nowadays.”

“Oh I don’t know. I mean, didn’t they invent the memory foam mattress?”

“That’s helping us get to Mars how?” Bruce thumbed his nose.

“I don’t know, but when we do, we won’t be disturbing the person sleeping next to us,” Tony commented wryly.

“Or spilling their wine when we feel like jumping on the bed?”

“That’s the spirit.”

“Haha,” Bruce said to the pun. He then shook his head again. “Well, it’s not like you stand a better chance of living your childhood dream than I do. Didn’t you want to be a Gundam pilot?”

“Oh, I’m still gonna pilot a mobile suit someday, trust me. And from the looks of it, I’m probably gonna have to be the first one to fully design and build a decent one, assuming I’ll _settle_ for decent.”

“Fully automated with JARVIS, I’m assuming?” Bruce guessed.

“Oh yeah. All the bells and whistles.” Tony nodded, before twirling his wrist, “Plus spinning rims.”

A brief silence fell between them again. For a moment there, caught up in banter, Tony had almost managed to forget what Bruce had told him a few minutes ago. “You know,” Tony started, the thought he was about to convey as bittersweet as it was sincere, “It’s discussions like these that make me wonder what it would have been like to have been friends back when we were little. We probably would’ve argued for hours over whether space colonies were a viable option for the future of the human race, because you’re a stickler for cautious underestimates, and I just really want to live on a damn space colony.”

Bruce chuckled. It was an interesting thought, say, if he’d grown up with Tony rather than Betty. Or perhaps in addition to Betty. The two of them probably wouldn’t be in this hard spot now if they had. He shoved that thought to the very back corner of his mind. “Well it’s not a viable option unless we can find an agricultural replacement to soil,” Bruce contested playfully for the sake of doing so.

“Of course we can. But not with that downer attitude,” Tony teased. “Plus,” he jabbed his chest with his thumb as a pervy smirk stole over his features, “I want to be the first guy to score in zero gravity.”

“Without gravity there’d be nothing to gain purchase against except the other person; it’d be pretty boring pretty quickly,” Bruce didn’t hesitate to pop his friend’s bubble.

Tony rolled his eyes and gave his friend a shove on the arm, “Well I know _your_ Gundam’s name would have been BuzzKill.”

“I didn’t say I’d be opposed to trying it with you,” Bruce lobbied, but it kind of lacked his former flirtateousness.

“No thanks. I think you just killed _that_ dream,” Tony remarked flatly. He could tell his friend was trying, but Tony wasn’t really in the mood to kid himself, and he sure as Hell wasn’t in the mood to contemplate sex with the man next to him in his current emotional state, Zero-G or otherwise. 

He bit his lip, inhaling through his nose slowly, “Considering the amount of time it’d take ‘til the human race is capable of making a functioning space colony, complete with a soil alternative… How long do you think that’d take? Thirty years give or take, with optimal funding and zero coffee breaks?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right. Good luck on getting that funding though.”

Tony took a deep breath in and out, clenching a fistful of the blanket he was laying on. “Do you really think in thirty years you and I are still gonna be together?” Tony asked, but the last few words were drowned out by the sound of an explosive screeching its way upward in the night sky, bursting into a spray of vivid green.

Bruce nearly jumped out of his skin at the unexpected sound and light. “What the…??” he stared wide-eyed and alarmed before yet another firework interrupted him by taking to the sky, detonating in white and gold sparks.

“Surprise...” Tony murmured, twirling a finger.

Bruce gawked at the spectacle now in full-swing in front of him. Each colorful explosion lit the hill they were seated on, bathing the each of them in bright, fleeting light. It was… well, it was breath-taking was what it was. He sat there simply staring with his neck craned back, the pops and bangs each ringing in his ears, drowning out every other thought in his head. He followed one of the contrails down to its origin. Wait, were they coming off the school rooftop?? he noticed with a momentary eyebrow lift. As the last few pops and bangs sounded out and diminished in the smoky sky, he looked back to Tony, his heart squeezing in his chest. “You…” he couldn’t quite get out what he was feeling. “You made fireworks…?”

“Yeah I set them up for tonight. I also included one dud labeled with the HammerTech logo,” Tony explained, all the while lacking the trademark smugness that he’d intended to have in this moment, “ _Someone’s_ gonna wake up to a rough morning tomorrow.”

Bruce really only listened to the first half of that answer. He reached out to pull his friend into a tight hug, whispering an emotionally-conflicted, “You’re the best. You know that?”

“It’s no big deal,” Tony replied, sliding his arms around Bruce hesitantly. This felt awkward now, and he couldn’t _remember_ the last time touching Bruce had felt awkward. He nibbled his bottom lip, reminding himself that he’d better get used to it now; he was riding home the exact same way. He let out a pained sigh, “I’m sorry; I should be handling this better.”

Bruce shook his head, clinging tighter to the other boy. Tony’s arms felt so _right_ around him and he wanted to stay nestled there forever, never letting go. His body developed a tremble. “Don’t apologize… you’re not the one who should.” His voice took on a ragged note, “It’s me who’s the _fucking_ problem. If I could just--” he sucked in a breath.

“Stop blaming yourself,” Tony grumbled, “I mean, I think it was a stupid choice, naturally, but I’ve been telling you for how long that you need to stop beating yourself up?” He gave Bruce a pat on the back and let go. Bruce didn’t. Tony shifted, attempting to worm back; Bruce held tight. “What are you…? Big guy, we can’t still be--” he swallowed those words in a hurry. He didn’t know what to do about this entire night. The fireworks were supposed to have been a halfway point, but the atmosphere had altered too drastically to want to stay. “Maybe we should call it a night,” he said.

The teen bit his lip hard enough to almost break the skin. Yeah. He was certain both his parents would prefer him back sooner than later. Back to studying and writing papers. The jolt back to reality felt like a bucket of ice cold water being dumped over his head. His hands fell to his sides. “Yeah, I should get back,” he answered numbly.

“Okay,” Tony nodded, turning and kneeling to collect and pack up what was laid out over the grass. Bruce followed his motions, opening his backpack for the other teen to haphazardly stuff the items back in before bending to grab two corners of the blanket up from the ground.

Tony took hold of the other two corners and met Bruce halfway, eyes not lifting from the blanket. Together they folded it and added it to the backpack. Bruce zipped it up, slung it over his shoulder, and proceeded over to his moped, climbing on and kicking up the stand.

Tony followed, climbing onto the seat behind his friend and wrapping his arms around the big guy’s torso. Things hadn’t gone the way he’d expected tonight at all, and now he really just wanted to drink himself to sleep and forget it _all_. But he had that stupid job interview tomorrow and chances were his dad’s old employer wasn’t looking to hire a hungover teenager. “I’m ready,” he muttered.

Bruce nodded and fired up the ignition. He turned his head to take one last glance at the sky still filled with the leftover smoke of the fireworks before setting off down the road. The majority of the trip was wordless, but at a certain point Bruce felt Tony’s grip begin to lax, the boy slumping harder against him. Funny how it reminded him of the first ride back home he’d given Tony back from the levee when he’d been so drunk he could barely keep his eyes open. He’d been so gruff to the other boy back then. And Tony had suffered it willingly, kept pressing. That nature… to forge ahead, charge headlong… he was as much a ram as Aries could portray… and it worried Bruce. It gave him concern that Tony might not be considering the long-term, rushing into something neither of them were prepared for.

Well, Tony might’ve been prepared, but Bruce sure wasn’t. His lips pursed tight.

Bruce reached down off the handlebars with one of his hands to press it down on his friend’s. “Hey, don’t fall asleep,” he said over the puttering engine.

Tony stirred, “Hm? I’m fine.”

“Yeah, okay,” Bruce chuckled a bit, the stubborn answer also bringing back memories of that night in September.

“Are we there yet?” Tony mumbled into his back.

The question proved his friend’s eyes were shut. “Almost. Just another couple blocks.”

“Mm…” was all the more response that came. Bruce coasted to a stop in front of the Stark mansion, killing the engine and giving the other boy a gentle jostle.

“Hey, we’re here now.”

“Deja vu...” Tony murmured as he slipped off the seat, “Thanks for, uh… yeah,” he shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck, “Catch you later, I guess,” he finished lamely as he turned to leave.

“I was at least going to walk you to the door,” Bruce killed the engine and dismounted as well, coming up alongside him.

Tony paused mid-stride, turning to regard the boy next to him, genuinely confused and maybe even a little angered by his behavior. He finally decided to express it, “Why??”

“I… I don’t know,” Bruce answered honestly, a sheepish half-smile creeping over his features, “I guess because I’m stalling. I’d rather be here with you than…” he shrugged a shoulder in the direction of his house.

Tony sighed out a harshly broken note, “You just broke up with me! What the Hell are you doing following me to my door? Are you looking to ‘kiss me goodnight’??”

Bruce blinked, his brow drawing down. “Tony, we were never dating. You _knew_ that.”

Tony mentally face-palmed. That was an embarrassing slip. “Correction: You stated your disinterest in dating me.”

The big guy heaved a sigh, ache in his chest doubling. “I said I _couldn’t_.” He looked at the ground. “Not that I didn’t want to.”

That made Tony feel better, but not by enough. “So what’s stopping you?” he asked, locking eyes with the other teen.

Bruce opened his mouth, finding it dry and chalky. Was he going to give his friend the same bullshit parrot answer he’d given his mother as to why he couldn’t date Tony? About responsibility and not being at a point in his life when dating was permissible? Or was he going to explain like he had to Betty on Christmas? That with his history he just couldn’t trust himself yet?

His brain whirled and whirled.

Tony let out a tired sigh after enough time had passed. Maybe he was being a little unfair. “Listen, I’m obviously a little strung out. Maybe we can work this out later? Because what I’m hearing is you would if you could. I guess I can deal with that, and I’ll try to ignore the near heart-attack you gave me for making me think otherwise.”

Bruce reached out to grab both his friend’s hands, squeezing them tightly. “Yeah, of course we can talk about it more. We… we really should’ve talked about all this sooner.” His voice cracked a bit as he came to tears, “I love you so much, Tony. This… this thing we have… it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me… I mean that.”

Tonight had been an emotional rollercoaster for Tony, and he was still reeling in the aftermath. Part of him wanted answers, but another part of him just wanted to go inside, have a shot of something (or multiple somethings), and go to bed so he could put off all of this thinking for another day. He obviously wasn’t equipped to deal with any of this right now. Besides, Bruce still loved him, so maybe this was a decent enough opportunity to set the topic down for now and come back to it later.

He sighed wistfully. “Yeah, I love you too,” he pulled Bruce into a hug, slapping his back as he backed away, “Take it easy. I’m gonna be busy tomorrow. Dad has me doing something boring and unfair.”

Bruce gave a light chuckle, wiping under his eyes quickly. “Me too. Homework. Lots of it.”

“I’m telling you, finishing the work a week or two ahead would really free up your schedule.”

“If only there weren’t always more,” Bruce said. He gave the hands in his another squeeze and leaned in to peck Tony on the cheek. “See you Monday.”

Tony didn’t let him get away that easy, forcibly pulling him back by his shirt collar to plant a hard kiss on his lips. “I was worried for awhile there that I wouldn’t see you _at all_ after tonight...”

Bruce blinked. Why would Tony think that?? Not dating didn’t mean severing a friendship-- especially one as meaningful as theirs. He forced the stupefaction from his thoughts. He kept their faces close as he studied his friend’s wide irises in the illumination of the porch light, searching their deep brown depths. “Sailing alone, but travelling side by side... remember?” he said softly.

A short laugh sprung from Tony’s throat. “That was corny as Hell,” he replied with a slow shake of his head, though his smile was enough affirmation. At least now he was feeling much better about the evening’s events. Whatever it was that was keeping Bruce from dating him, he had faith it wouldn’t be an obstacle for long. “See you Monday then.”

The big guy nodded and went back to his bike. Tony stayed on the porch, lifting his hand in a wave as the other teen drove off. He was about to go back inside when he thought to glance back up at the starscape winking down at him. With a snort, he flipped it off quickly and slammed the door behind him. He was gonna chase the evening away on his electric and a bottle of Jack.


	49. Chapter 49

Rebecca pulled the whistling teakettle full of boiling water off the heating element and dropped the sterling tea strainer full of spices into the hot liquid. As she pulled two cups down from the cabinet, she heard Bruce make his way in through the garage. “Back so soon? Knowing you two I thought you’d be back much, much later,” she teased her son.

The implication caused him to light up pink. “I came back early to get some homework done before bed,” he fibbed, setting his backpack down and removing his coat.

“Always so responsible…” the woman trilled softly. “So tell me, darling. How did your date with Tony go?” Her head tipped to the side with a smile.

“Mom. It wasn’t a date.” Bruce shook his head and attempted to shrug it off. “We just went stargazing.”

She gave him a look of ‘Please, your mother knows better.’, shifting onto her other hip. “Well then, in that case, how did _stargazing_ go?” her words, though still teasing, were light at heart.

Bruce made a slightly disgruntled noise, rubbing the back of his head, “It went alright.”

“Just alright?” her face shifted to concern. “Did something happen?”

“No,” Bruce mumbled before sighing, “Well, yes and no.”

The woman picked up the teapot and poured out two steaming cups of chamomile tea. “Here,” she said, handing her son his, “Now let’s go get comfy and you tell Mommy all about it.” She gave him a quick peck on the temple before shooing him off to the living room.

The boy gnawed his lip, carefully making his way with the hot beverage in both hands. He set it down on the coffee table and sat on the couch, as did his mother. She looked expectant, but he took an extra moment to collect his thoughts. He grabbed one of the pillows and kind of hugged it against his stomach, hoping the pressure would ease some of his queasiness. “I just don’t know what to do…” he admitted softly. “I told Tony we couldn’t date for now. It… it seemed to really upset him.”

“I can imagine,” Rebecca responded empathetically. “Heartbreak is like that, dear.”

“It’s not like that though,” Bruce intervened, “I _want_ to date Tony. But I... I’m scared to…”

Rebecca frowned. “Bruce, sweetheart, why in Heaven’s name would you be scared?”

“I… I don’t want to hurt him…” he barely kept tears from falling, as he looked away, “D-dad…”

“Oh Bruce…” his mother hurriedly pulled him into her chest, hugging tight. She pet his hair as if it could banish the thoughts from his head. “Honey, not every relationship goes the way mine and your father’s did.”

“I know…” he mumbled, trying to let her caresses soak in, but all he felt was sick to his stomach, “But it _could_.”

She lifted his chin with both hands, connecting her brown eyes with his. “Yes, it could,” Rebecca spoke clearly, matter-of-factly. “Everything in life has risks. Sometimes we know the risks, and other times we don’t. Knowing them shouldn’t frighten us away from something that could potentially be wonderful.” She stroked a hand along the side of his face, “Despite all the challenges I’ve faced with your father, he’s given me many wonderful things. Including you, Bruce.” She kissed his forehead. “Nothing could be more wonderful than that.”

The boy let his mother pull him close, sensing that the topic had made her a little over-emotional as well. He rocked back and forth, rubbing her back as she sniffled. It surprised him sometimes to realize just how much forgiveness his mother was capable of-- it might have been the only thing that kept she and his father together at times. It was one of her greatest strengths. And possibly weaknesses too.

Rebecca pulled back a few minutes later. “Gracious…” she swept away her tears, “I’m sorry, sweetie; I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Bruce said. He was thinking deeply now, trying to figure out how much ‘risk’ would be involved should he and Tony give things a shot. He ignored the knotting in his gut and posed a question. “C-could… could you tell me more about you and Dad? Like… when you first met and started dating… What was… What was he like?”

Rebecca seemed to consider this request a little worriedly at first, then again, she could understand her son’s curiosity. She pushed the hair out of her face and sat up straight. “Well certainly, sweetheart. Goodness, where to begin?” she pondered thoughtfully, picking up her tea to stir it. She removed the spoon and took a long sip now that it had cooled.

“Well…” she gently smacked her lips, “when I went to work at the lab, your father had already been there for six years. In that time he had earned himself a reputation and had become well-established in his position and he was quite respected,” she told, pressing her hands down into her lap. “Of course, I didn’t get the pleasure of meeting him until after my training and a few months’ work, when higher-ups decided to transfer me to the same department he was in.”

Bruce hummed, taking note of the fact his mother phrased the circumstance as ‘a pleasure’. He reached for his own cup of tea to sip at while her story unfolded. Rebecca went on, “I recall his demeanor being… a bit off-putting and callous; he only ever spoke of work or things relating to work at first. I found it difficult to socialize with him at times, but I admired him for his work-ethic and I can say that it inspired me. I enjoyed his presence whenever projects dictated it, though sometimes I worried he did not always feel the same towards me.”

Bruce lifted his eyebrow, finding this information to be interesting. He wondered if his father had ever wished his wife-to-be would just leave him alone so he could get some work done, or if he’d appreciated her attempts to be sociable. Bruce thought he appreciated Tony’s social nature more often than not. He shook his head, returning to the story his mother was telling. “That must’ve changed…” he said. If his father had always been indifferent, the two of them would have _never_ gotten romantically involved.

His mother nodded. “It did, though I’ll admit I was quite surprised at the time when it did. We had been working as colleagues for over a year. One day he approached me quite unexpectedly. I remember his words as if it were yesterday. He said: ‘I have never met a woman so dedicated to her work as you are, Rebecca.’ I thanked him; I was tickled to receive such a compliment,” she put her hand to her breast in recollection. “Especially from him, it was all the more valued. But immediately after I said it, he looked so confused, and he asked if I was available after work-- as it turned out, complimenting me was actually his way of trying to ask me out!” The woman paused to laugh. “Goodness, it’s almost silly looking back on it now. I said yes, of course. He was so stiff and awkward that night; he had no idea what ‘romance’ was at all. But I could tell he was trying.” She smiled.

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck embarrassedly. “Did you and he…?” he trailed off, curious about how soon the sexual aspect of their relationship had begun to bud as well but not sure how to ask it directly.

The woman giggled again and reached out to pat her son on the leg reassuringly. “No, it was several more dates before your father exhibited any physical desires. Mind you, that was fairly unusual for the majority of the men I dated prior to your father. But none of them were as passionate as your father is either,” Rebecca noted with a sly little quirk of lips. She wandered gradually back into memory again. “That passion came to me as a surprise as well. As reserved and closed-off as he could be at times, I never expected there to be so much raw emotion hidden beneath the surface.”

Bruce supposed that raw emotion went for anger, as well as love. He wondered if she’d realized that then, or if she’d been blissfully ignorant. If she’d known then what his ‘passion’ would later wreak, would she have still dated and ultimately married him? But then, if she hadn’t, he wouldn’t be here to even wonder that, now would he? Bruce took a drink, licking his lips afterward. “So… how long did you and Dad date for?” he ventured.

“Goodness…” her eyes defocused, “it’s difficult to recall... it was quite some time. Perhaps a year or two?” Her face lit up with a smile, “We went out every Friday night, never missed a week. Even if that meant having a candlelit dinner under the lab fluorescents while we tried to finish up a project.” She traced the edge of her tea cup with a fingertip. “It was amazing to watch his transformation over that time; he must have been really quite smitten. Of course, he still took his work _very_ seriously, as you would expect.” She took a final drink, finishing her tea and setting the teacup back down on its saucer with a light _clink_.

“Yeah,” the teenager nodded. Hadn’t Tony said something similar like that? That he’d changed a lot? He took a big gulp of tea in hopes it would settle his stomach.

“Your father was always surprising me back then,” Rebecca mused fondly, drawing Bruce’s attention back. “My admiration for him grew into affection. Day by day he opened up to me, and the more I learned about him, the deeper that affection became.” She paused and held her son’s gaze, “But the biggest surprise was the night he proposed to me.”

Bruce felt his forehead wrinkle. “Why would that surprise you?” he asked; it sounded like the normal progression of things if everything had been going well. After all, that was what dating was for, wasn’t it? Finding out if that person was who you wanted to spend the rest of your life with?

“You have to understand, sweetheart. Your father took a risk, just as I did.” Her eyes were ever so moist again. “When I met him, he was broken and flawed, but he kept it hidden and locked up deep inside where no one could see, _no one_. Yet _even so_ he found it in him to trust me. To reveal how damaged he really was, knowing I might reject him.” She tipped her teacup to stare into the empty bottom. “That same night he told me that before meeting me, he’d been content to remain single and had no desire to pursue a relationship.”

Bruce blinked, gawking. “He’d never dated before??” he interrupted. “How old _was_ he?”

His mother hummed, counting the years backward. “Thirty-one, I believe. We got married two years later in ‘85.”

The teen shook his head incredulously. Tony probably wasn’t going to want to wait that long. He urged her to continue. “So… so after that, I mean, after your honeymoon you guys got this house…”

“Oh yes,” Rebecca smiled again, “We’d both been living in separate apartments through our engagement. Your father wanted it that way. He felt it was more proper that until vows were said and the prenuptial agreement was signed that neither of us move in with the other.”

Bruce felt himself grunt. That definitely sounded like his hard-ass old man. His mother continued, “We both had quite a bit in savings, so we were able to make a large down payment and secure a good mortgage. It was a very exciting time for the both of us, with many life changes ahead of us.” She nodded to herself with a smile, “Those were good times.”

Bruce nodded, but he knew the biggest life change wouldn’t come for another ten years, and that change was sitting on the couch drinking tea with his mother. He sighed somewhat heavily. While it was fascinating to hear about the bygone years of his parents’ relationship, nothing his mother had said made him any more confident than before about the potentiality of he and Tony. Not to mention he could feel a slight migraine coming on. _‘From over-thinking,’_ Tony would’ve said.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” his mother asked, and then he realized he’d accidentally gone silent the past minute or two.

“Yeah,” he answered distractedly, “Yeah, I should probably get to bed. But, um…” he looked down at his cup on the coffee table, “thanks for tea.”

Rebecca took the opportunity to hug her son close again. “Anytime, darling. You know I’m always here for you to talk or whatever else.” She stood, picking up both teacups to take to the kitchen. Bruce smiled for the first time in hours; he knew she was.

\--

He’d only just pushed in through the door with the little bell above it when a booming voice sounded out across the parlor. “Master Stark!” Theodore hailed his classmate with a raised fist, recognizing him immediately.

“Thor?” Tony drew back in surprise, nearly backing into the door as it closed behind him.

“Aye, ‘tis I,” the young man grinned a mile wide upon hearing his preferred title from the other high schooler’s lips. “I wager you come to slake thine hunger upon the crispest breadcrust in all the realm?”

“Thor, it’s early,” Tony replied, pinching the bridge of his nose– even with a long shower and a lot of drinking water he could still feel a touch of last night’s drinking he’d allowed himself to do. “Can you run that by me again with about seventy percent less ‘what light through yonder window breaks’?”

“You come to purchase a pie, do you not?” Theodore pointed above his head at the menu.

Tony deflected the question, “Is that what _you’re_ here for?”

“Certainly not. This is my place of employment,” the blond explained with hearty pride. “It’s my duty to respond to the calls of hunger!” Theodore pointed then to the telephone on the wall behind the counter.

Thor really needed to use his inside voice; his volume almost made Tony’s ears ring. “I thought you were the delivery boy for the Wok ‘N’ Roll on the other side of the street.” He had delivered his and Bruce’s Chinese food that one time. Tony was confused.

“Aye, that I am,” Thor confirmed. “My prowess in the hasty transport of sustenance is known _throughout_ the mighty Chain of Restaurants!” He swept his hand out to convey the magnitude, “Wings World, Tex-Mex Express, and Charlie’s Subs all hail me as their own.” He thumped his chest; his honor could not have been more evident.

“So... you’re the delivery boy for basically everywhere?” Tony drew out with cautious incredulity.

“If I am to ride across town to deliver an enchilada with rice and beans, why should I not as well deliver chow mein and potstickers to his neighbor?” Thor explained, gesturing with his open palms up. He fisted one hand and struck it into the other. “T’would be a waste of time and fossil fuel to do anything but! Besides, if I am to support myself, coin need be plentiful.” He rubbed his forefinger and thumb together.

“And they _let_ you work for all of them at once?” Tony was flabbergasted. “That’s not a conflict of interest or anything?”

“Men hunger for a great variety of victuals,” Thor grinned as he explained to his bamboozled classmate. “When you desire pepperoni pizza, would you settle for buffalo wild wings? I think not!” He threw back his head and gave a thunderous laugh.

Tony rubbed near his earbones. “Makes some sense, but don’t you ever feel, I don’t know, overworked?”

“Overworked?” the blond tilted his head at his friend as if he did not understand his meaning.

“Well, you’re the only delivery guy, for what, five take-out restaurants?”

“I am not alone. I heard rumor that others were to be interviewed by Sir Salvatore this morn’.” A grin spread over the football player’s face.

“You don’t say?” Tony lifted his chin to scratch the still slightly irritated skin on his neck he’d freshly shaved that morning.

“Aye, but I doubt his skill shall hold a candle to my own,” Thor boasted raucously. “But I yearn for the challenge nonetheless!”

“Yeah...” Tony echoed nervously, “What time was the poor guy supposed to be here?”

“I would not know,” the blond responded. The beeper on his waistband went off again, signalling he was needed at Charlie’s Subs. “Ah! But I have tarried here with you for too long, friend. Deliveries await! If all goes well, I shall meet my apprentice on the morrow!” He grabbed Tony’s shoulder, squeezing and giving it a shake. “I bid you farewell, until our paths cross again.”

“Right back at ya, Greased Lightning,” Tony replied, giving the blond’s shoulder a bump with his fist.

“How would one coat the sky’s wrath in the fat of a pig? And to what purpose?” the teen looked perplexed.

Tony shook his head, “Ask Steve. I’m sure he’ll get the reference.”

Theodore’s blue eyes lit up with boundless delight, a reaction that wasn’t lost on Tony. “Ahh, I will be certain to,” he nodded before swiftly pushing out the door, bell jingling in his wake.

“That Theo’s really somethin’, huh?”

Tony turned to see a tall, burly, olive skinned man in a flour-dusted apron leaning against the counter. “Yeah, I guess that’s as accurate an assessment as any,” Tony replied.

“Glad he finally cut his hair though. You Howie’s kid?” the man switched gears, betraying a hint of a Brooklyn accent. “You got the same mug as him.”

_‘Howie?’_ Tony willed himself not to snort. He was trying to exercise professionalism. As much as he really didn’t want a job right now, the concept of earning his own money then buying something nice for Bruce with said money so he could gloat about how thoughtful he was until he got bored was very appealing. “Yes, sir.” He held out a hand, “Tony Stark.”

A strong hand swung out and clasped onto his like a vice and still tightening, “Salvatore Mancini. Call me Sal.”

Tony winced a little at the oppressively firm handshake, “Great to meet you, Sal.”

Sal relinquished his grip, much to Tony’s relief (though now he was seriously questioning whether he had any bones left in his hand, or if they’d all been compressed to a fine dust), “You wanna step into my office?” He thumbed back at it.

Tony nodded, clenching and unclenching his fist at his side, following Sal as he made his way back to through the kitchen to the manager’s office; he sat down in the seat across from him.

Salvatore steepled his fingers before continuing, “Alright so, a few standard questions I gotta ask. You ever been convicted of a felony?”

“Like Hell,” Tony snorted, then caught himself, wide-eyed. “I mean, no, I haven’t,” he corrected.

Sal nodded. “I got a feeling that Mustang parked outside is probably yours, but,” he sighed and shifted heavily in his chair, continuing the needless next form question, “Can you drive or do you have reliable alternative transportation?”

“I have a car, and my license, yes...” Tony answered, relaxing a bit once he realized the stuffy formalities they were engaging in were equally distasteful to the both of them.

“You on any drugs?” Sal followed up quickly, giving off the distinct vibe that he wanted to expedite this exchange as much as possible.

Tony had to remember not to scoff again. He was a wild one, but not _that_ wild. “No. I mean… prescription, yeah.”

“As long as they’re all _your_ prescriptions,” the manager chuckled, and that made Tony feel comfortable enough to mirror the action.

“Of course they’re all mine,” Tony replied, his tone an equal measure of amused and incredulous.

Sal hummed to himself, nodding and then pushing his chair back to stand, his body language giving off an air of finality, “Alright, kid. I’ll see you back here tomorrow. I’m gonna have Theo run you through the basics.”

Tony eyed him confusedly for a moment, “But I haven’t even had my interview.”

Sal chuckled, shaking his head, “That was the interview. You passed. What? You think you need _credentials_ to run pizzas around? I could hire babies to do the job. ‘Cept then I’d be facin’ charges on child labor laws.”

Tony stood awkwardly, hands sliding into his pockets, “That was hardly what I was expecting from my first interview.” They hadn’t even been talking for ten minutes!

Salvatore waved dismissively, gesturing Tony towards the dining room doorway, “I don’t have time for bullshit. Got a business to run.”

“No wonder you and my dad got along so well,” Tony remarked as his new boss led him out.

“Got along?” the man snorted, “This was the first and last part time job your fogey of a father ever worked. I don’t have to tell you why he was so determined to get that college degree and start up his own company.” Sal chuckled jovially.

“You didn’t like each other?” Tony guessed.

“He didn’t like the job. He also didn’t like to be told what to do, but he always knew how to put on a face and do what needed to be done. Real professional that kid.”

Tony snorted at his old-timer being referred to as a ‘kid’. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“It ain’t a wonder he sent you to me. If you got half the drive your old man did, you’ll get along just fine here.” He held out his hand once again, “Swing by a half hour early tomorrow and I’ll fix you a slice and a coke. On the house.”

Tony hesitated to take the man’s hand at first, but the handshake he received was only half as strong as the first-- thank God. “See you then, boss,” he responded.

“You think this is some front for the mafia? I told you already; it’s Sal.”

“Right, sorry,” Tony replied, resisting the urge to duck his head.

“I’m just screwin’ around, kid. Relax.” He gave him a light shove that nearly threw him on his ass. “Now get outta here, this might be your last day to enjoy your freedom.”

“Yeah,” Tony nodded, turning for the door and pulling it open, surprised at his own eagerness to come back and prove himself. “Thanks for hiring me.”

Sal nodded vigorously, though at the same time he was gesturing for Tony to leave, “Go have some fun tonight, kid.”

Tony sat in his car a long while before he even bothered to turn the ignition, thinking about this turn of events. So, it was official. He had a job now. In spite of the glaring lack of choice both his new boss and his old man had presented him with, he couldn’t help but feel a surprising upturn of lips at this development.

Normal teenagers had jobs, learned responsibility, earned their own money and grew up. These were things that he could do assuming he stayed healthy and his condition didn’t cause any complications. Even if he still wasn’t quite over the shock of what he’d learned from his father in regards to his arrhythmia, it was uplifting on many levels to know that the old geezer had done this for him. This was one big step towards living a normal adult life, and the fact that his father had actually _been a father_ and given him the push to do it was finally starting to register how much was changing between them. For once, for the better.

He grinned as he pulled out his phone to text Bruce the good news, but stopped as quickly as he’d began. No. No, a better idea was beginning to form already. If he kept this information to himself, he could save up and buy something nice for the big guy. It might not be something insanely expensive, but it would be thoughtful, and it would be the first thing Tony ever bought without a penny of his father’s fortune. His grin threatened to split his face.

With any luck, the sentiment could be enough to win his buddy over and convince him to give the whole relationship thing a shot. If not, it should at least be enough to win him a blowjob. Tony snorted as he pushed in the clutch and fired up his ‘stang. Bruce would probably have smacked him upside the head for that, even if the big guy intended to do it anyway. Yeah, he’d wait to tell Bruce. The surprise would be more than worth it. Besides, he was sure this part time job wouldn’t eat up too much of his free time.

\--

“Master Stark! I must yield to the Light of Yellow!”

“No, you’ve totally got it-- just hit the accelerator, go go go!”

Thor did as told, the light turning from yellow to red as his chariot sailed beneath it, followed near-immediately by a chorus of screeching tires and honks, and possibly one or two swears from a rolled down window.

“Haha!” Theodore struck the steering wheel with both palms. “Foolhardy as that may have been, I can still feel excitement coursing through me! We have gained much ground with this maneuver!”

“Yeah, it’s called a ‘rush’,” Tony added. He clearly wasn’t as floored as his flaxen-haired counterpart, but he still felt some runoff excitement seeing his friend so easily entertained by the simple action of running a red light. Though Thor’s car-- an old 1980s Jeep Wagoneer-- had nowhere near the torque his ‘stang did and was in definite need of a tune-up; the clunking engine noise coming from under the hood was enough to make the hot rod-enthusiast cringe. “I take it your parents are the standard ‘safe’ drivers?” he inquired.

Thor clenched the steering wheel in response, “I count neither an influence in my life, and have not since I took leave of their care shortly before The Eve of the New Year.”

Tony blinked. “Wait, you left home? So where the Hell did you go?” he asked.

Theodore’s mouth pulled into a thin-lined grimace, hooking his thumb behind him.

Tony’s eyes followed the motion, mouth gaping at the sight of a pillow and a few wadded-up blankets in the backseat. “In your _car?_ ” Tony spouted incredulously, “In _this_ car?!”

Thor turned his head to lift an eyebrow at him, unamused. “You belittle my conveyance--?”

Tony held up his hands defensively, “My bad; that was rude,” he apologized. “But seriously, dude, your car?!”

“I was fortunate enough to be offered a place to reside not long after. I am surprised you had not noticed the futon in the far corner of Friend Steve’s bedchambers.” Theodore brought his chariot to a halt on the curb of 1504 Windsor Court, removing the seatbelt from his chest and lap before clambering out onto the street.

Tony hurried after him, pizza box tight in his fingers. “Wait, _what?_ ” he blurted.

The blond halted on the front step of the domicile, ringing the doorbell. “‘Tis only a temporary arrangement; be assuaged. I’ve been told by the head of household that it is a passable solution until time affords them the freedom to procure proper bedding.”

The billionaire’s son shook his head. “I can’t believe it.”

“That a friend such as Steve would be so sympathetic to my plight?” Theodore nodded. “Aye, I am frequently plagued with similar feelings of disbe--”

“No. That I’ve been out of the loop this whole time.” Tony would have thrown his hands up in the air for emphasis, but they were currently carrying any hope he had for splitting a tip with Thor once the day’s training was through. “The only thing he bothered to tell me on New Years was that he…” he tapered off, realizing several things in the span of only a few seconds, number one being he _really_ shouldn’t finish that sentence. He coughed.

Theodore turned his head to gaze upon his apprentice with curious eye, when the portal in front of them both opened. “Ah! Good sir, we come bearing thine Gourmet Chicken Parmesan pizza, still hot and of the highest caliber!” he motioned enthusiastically.

Tony just smiled nervously, thanked God silently for his amazing timing, and held up the pizza box, head tilting to indicate the white paper bag balanced on top, “And mozzarella sticks. We brought those too.”

The man hummed indifferently, not questioning the odd manner of speech as he retrieved his wallet from his back pocket. He sifted through his bills before pulling out a single, handing it to Thor before taking his delivery from Tony.

Thor beamed back at the man, “Gratitude to you, noble sir!”

Then man gave the two an awkward glance and closed the door. Thor’s smile faded into a scowl as he heard the lock clink, “Ungrateful lout! Thieving villain!” He turned to address Tony directly, “That, Sir Anthony, is how one finds their way to the end of all future delivery runs.”

Tony chuckled, clapping Thor on the shoulder as they head back down to his Jeep, “You’re the wrong guy to snub off, huh?”

“Aye, but though I may wish such a miserly man never feast upon the delicacy of artisan bread ever again, I must bear no grudge. Come, let us return to Sir Salvatore’s in hopes that our next venture yields more fruit! I wish to celebrate with drink this night, in honor of my new compatriot, should he be so inclined to join me.” Theodore smiled at his fellow peer.

Tony took a few seconds to consider the offer, rubbing the back of his neck, “Well, I’ve been trying to limit my drinking lately honestly.” Laaast night notwithstanding...

The jock frowned. “But this is a time for joyous celebration!” he began to protest, before humming. “I suppose should you wish to limit your consumption, it shall be of no issue. After all, your company is the true benefit, trusted friend!” He opened the door to his chariot and stepped inside.

Tony bit his lip. If that was the case, he wasn’t sure why he would have any further reservations. Yeah, he and Bruce had planned to hang out tonight, but they hung out every night. It shouldn’t be an issue; they’d hang out tomorrow. He addressed Thor, “And Steve and his parents are okay with this?” he asked as he joined the other boy in the car.

Theodore paused to stroke his chin, “I suppose with Friend Steve’s elders taken into consideration, it would be unwise to partake in such revelry openly.” He visibly deflated for but a moment before his countenance brightened again, “No matter. We shall engage in merriment of other kinds. I trust you are familiar with the Consoles of Next Gen?”

Tony’s face cracked into a smirk, “Familiar enough to beat you and Steve back into the middle ages and the nineteen-forties, respectively.”

“The gauntlet has been thrown!” Thor bellowed, turning the key within his chariot and causing it to roar to life with the same intensity as his own, “I shall inform Friend Steve upon our return to the place of employment. I warn, Master Stark, the Son of Coul verily knows every cheat code.”

“Which will make it even more upsetting when I wipe the floor with all three of you,” Tony teased, pulling out his phone to text Bruce. _‘I’ve been invited to dinner at the White House. Is it okay if we hang out tomorrow instead?’_

Though he’d normally have hit send immediately, something about the wording rubbed him the wrong way. Bruce had made a point of saying they weren’t dating. He probably shouldn’t be acting like he had to run all his plans by his friend. To do so seemed clingy and overbearing, and it might even contribute to making Bruce a little uncomfortable. Tony hit delete and started over. _‘Heading to the White House for dinner tonight. I’ll catch you at school tomorrow.’_

Satisfied with the tone, he hit send.


	50. Chapter 50

“Jessica, please hand back Friday’s homework.”

Bruce tapped his forefinger anxiously on the top of his desk as the TA made her way down his row, distributing the homework assignments one-by-one. She stopped to give him a brief but alluring smile before sliding his graded work face-down onto his desk and moving on. As soon as her eyes left his, he snatched it up, turning it over only to let out a groan.

B+. Same as the time before. He could have slammed his head on the desk he was sitting at. This professor was going to unwittingly be the death of him. He skimmed through the notes in the margins. _‘Excellent work, but take slightly more care during conversions.’_ Was _anyone_ getting A’s from this guy?

Slumping back in his seat, Bruce waited impatiently for class to end. The _only_ good thing about today was that he’d be seeing Tony in approximately fifteen minutes, just as soon as he hit the parking lot. That was his pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

The professor dismissed them and Bruce rose, bag already packed. He hurried out to the lot, powering on his cellphone to give his friend a quick text to let him know he was on his way.

_‘Heading to the White House for dinner tonight. I’ll catch you at school tomorrow.’_

He read it, but didn’t process it at first. He stopped walking to read it more closely the second time.

_‘Heading to the White House for dinner tonight. I’ll catch you at school tomorrow.’_

What. The. Hell. Tony was over at _Steve’s??_ Bruce felt his grip tighten around his cell phone, the plastic creaking in protestation. It was the day’s vexations and not Tony’s spontaneous decision that was causing his anger to bubble to the surface he told himself. The fact that the one thing he’d been actually _looking forward to_ now wasn’t going to be there to enjoy.

He snorted. Then again, it was fair to be a little angry at Tony, wasn’t it? Tony had known he was coming over, after all, he’d come over every day of the week last week. Tony hadn’t even asked him first if he was cool with it if he hung out at Steve’s instead!

Was this because he’d told Tony they couldn’t date? he wondered then. Could Tony want to start hanging out with other classmates now because of that?

Bruce gave a hard exhale through his nostrils. He knew there had been nothing hard and fast saying he and Tony would hang out tonight, but goddamn it, he’d really wanted to spend some time with the other teen and unwind after working his ass off today. Yesterday had been Hell too. He grimaced and tried to push the memory of the day before to the back of his mind.

He wandered sullenly over to his moped, keyring on his thumb. Now he had to decide what to do instead. The answer was obvious of course, his curfew dictated he be home in half an hour. But he had no interest in returning home, even with Tony out of the equation.

That was when another possibility hit him. That this had been some kind of ploy on Tony’s part to get him to _keep_ his curfew. His friend had expressed multiple times that he didn’t think breaking curfew was a good idea, and now he’d gone off to hang out with someone else so Bruce would have nothing to do but ‘be good’ and go home. His teeth ground together. Well, one thing was for sure, he wasn’t going to give Tony the satisfaction.

Decision made, he mounted his bike and clicked the helmet strap beneath his chin, knowing exactly where he was headed.

\--

The levee was extra dark considering the sliver of a profile there was to the moon that night. Gravel ground together under the two tires as he gradually came to a stop and shut off the bike. He allowed his eyes to adjust before walking it over to the nearest tree and propping it against the trunk, and then he removed his helmet and backpack and left them beside it. Taking care where he placed his feet, he moved down the slope towards the water below, stopping on the bank to slide his hands in his pockets and stare at the slowly-moving stream with discontent.

Well, it had been quite a while since he’d been here alone. He took a glance to either side of him. None of the beer bottles from two months ago were around-- there must’ve been a community clean-up since then, or some bum had ‘struck it rich’ and made off with all of them. Bruce hummed and took a seat on the cold ground, reaching his fingers into his front jacket pocket now to procure the pack of cigarettes Tony had left in his mailbox. This place seemed to have fostered irresponsibility in the past, he may as well partake in the same now. He struck a match on the side of the matchbox and lit up.

He’d been previously sending his friend text updates on how many he’d smoked from the pack, but until now, none of them had been smoked _because_ of the other teen. Right now he was more irritated with Tony than he had words to express, which was probably why he hadn’t even gone to the bother of responding to the text his friend had sent him that had put him in this state of irritation. Let alone text him how many cigarettes he had left.

He spent several minutes there sitting on the bank, letting the nicotine flood his system and bring him calm. Like a lot of his flare-ups, it was a matter of spreading out the coals of his emotions and letting them gradually extinguish on their own. Too often he didn’t allow his anger enough time to die down, which resulted in an even greater inferno at the wrong provocation. He didn’t want to be mad at Tony, and he especially didn’t want to _stay_ mad at Tony. He needed to learn how to control this. He needed to so that the two of them…

Could be together.

He gave a difficult, shaky exhale, dragging his fingers through his hair. He’d just have to keep working on it, slowly but surely. Even if it took him to the age of 31. Even if it took _forever_. Bruce ground out the butt of his cigarette on the sole of his shoe and flicked it into the river before pulling out his cellphone. Propping his tongue between his teeth and lips, he deliberated a response.

_‘See you then. Love you.’_

He stared at it on his screen, as of yet unsent. It felt a little too forgiving and sappy, especially for how rotten he’d felt, but he put that behind him and hit send. If his mom could forgive his dad for his transgressions, Bruce could forgive Tony for this one little one.

Returning the device to his pocket, he stood and dusted himself off, climbing back up the slope to his moped.

\--

He idled up the driveway as he waited for the garage door to finish rattling its way to the top. Once it had, he gave the bike one last good rev to crest the remainder of the incline and nestled it between his mother’s car and the wall. He signalled the door shut, hung up his helmet and moved to go inside. But before he could, the door swung inward.

His father stepped into the threshold. Bruce felt his feet move him two steps backward on impulse. “Past curfew. Again,” the man said as if he were taking note of something relatively unimportant.

The teenager willed his tongue to work. “I’m sorry, sir. Traffic--” he began, but was harshly cut off.

“You disrespect me with your lies, Bruce. I won’t have any more of them,” his father said in an immovable tone. He stepped into the garage, shutting the door behind him. Bruce swallowed uncomfortably, a sense of entrapment, both mentally and physically, flooding through him. He’d finally reached the end of his leash then… come to the confrontation. Brian’s eyes narrowed on his fidgeting son. “Tell me, what is so difficult about being home when I tell you to be?”

Bruce bit the inside of his lip. The preclusion of lying only left telling the truth. “Nothing,” he answered, trying to keep his calm in the face of his old man, “I just don’t want to.”

His father’s fist slammed sideways against the wall, startling the teen. The man seethed a second longer, forcing his fingers to uncurl with a lengthy exhale. “Bruce...” he said slowly, obviously still abating anger, “This recent trend of misbehavior is of _great_ concern to your mother and I. I have not yet broached the subject of your delinquency regarding curfew with her, but I shall not hesitate to do so should this continue.”

The teen gave a snort at the ‘threat’. “And what’s _she_ going to do?” he challenged crassly.

Brian surged forward three steps. “I do not know when you developed such a lip,” he growled menacingly, the whites of his teeth bared to the gum. “Or the backbone to use it, but you’d best change your tone.”

Bruce stared down the man now not two feet from him, willing himself not to flinch, to not back down. “And if I don’t?”

A surge of rage visibly tightened in his father’s jowls and the veins in his temples. It was a face Bruce was all too familiar seeing-- had it been from his younger years, he knew a slap would have soon followed. The man turned from him with a yell, pounding both fists down on the hood of his car several times until light dents had formed in the metallic surface. Bruce watched warily as his father composed himself a second time with a good measure more difficulty than the first.

_‘Often gentleness is the answer over forcefulness,’_ Rebecca’s words echoed in his head. Brian straightened from his hunched posture, using two fingers to further loosen the tie around his collar. He erased the malice from his face and voice before turning back to his son. “Bruce, I am going to ask you nicely. Please respect your mother and I’s wishes, and trust that we, as a unit, have your best interests in mind, by being home at the hour I have dictated.”

Bruce paused a moment to frown, befuddled somewhat by the manner his father was all too suddenly exhibiting. It certainly wasn’t about to get the man the obedient ‘Yes, sir.’ he had come to expect from his son. Not anymore. “I think I can determine my _own_ best interests,” Bruce countered.

Brian breathed in carefully as if holding back. “You are rapidly approaching adulthood; it comes as no surprise to me that you feel that way,” he admitted, bowing his head in slight deference. “But I believe you should stop and re-evaluate what your mother and I think is best--”

An offended scoff issued from the younger man’s lips. “You have no _idea_ how I feel,” he broke in suddenly, rapidly growing increasingly angry at his father’s passive-aggressive attempts to change his mind. “You never cared to know. The only thing you care about is keeping me under your heel. That’s all you’ve _ever_ cared about, and it’s all you ever _will_.”

Brian was silent, perhaps disbelieving a moment. “Bruce, I care about you as my _son_ ,” he said firmly, but sincerely as he sought to explain. “I care to see my son succeed at all that he’s able. And to give him the guidance to do such.”

“ _Guidance??_ ” Bruce spat, slamming his foot down in front of him as his voice raised. “Is _that_ what you’re calling it? Ordering me around? Yelling and beating me until you got your way?!”

The father almost seemed at a loss for words at the younger man’s outburst. “It… it was erroneous on my part to resort to such conduct in the past,” he concluded, apology written into the posture of his shoulders though he maintained a stony visage. “I may have been overly forceful with you… and your mother, at times. But I did so out of love--”

“Don’t you _dare_ use that word to try and justify what you’ve done!!” Bruce shouted at him, throwing his backpack to the concrete floor. “Is _love_ the reason why you beat Mom and left me to cry myself to sleep at night? Is _love_ why you never let anyone come over because you were afraid they’d see the marks you left on her? Is it??” he demanded, stepping up close to the man to glare into his face, “Is it?! You _forgot_ what love is! She loved you, she took a risk on you! And look what you did with her trust!”

Brian’s eyes were downcast. “The actions in themselves were not loving. Despite the things my anger has driven me to do, I will always love both you and your mother.”

Bruce’s countenance shattered. That sentiment… he’d heard it before… no, he’d _said_ it before… to…

_‘No matter how mad I get, I’ll always love you.’_

...Tony. In this very house. Just after he’d come so close to knocking his lights out.

A sob choked up his throat, tears flooding his eyes faster than they could run down his cheeks. He couldn’t believe he was actually hearing this. He wept harder. Over the sounds of his lamentation, he heard his father speaking again... his horrible, wretched bastard of a father.

“I regret that my treatment of you in the past has caused you this level of grief…”

“You regret _nothing!_ ” Bruce interrupted, gesturing wildly. “You’re just saying that so Mom will love you again!!” His lip curled, “So she’ll _fuck_ you again! Do you know how much she forgave you? Do you have _any_ idea?? You don’t deserve her!”

Brian’s eyes unfogged, narrowing back on his son. “You greatly overstep your understanding of the situation, young man. And accompany it with filthy, derogatory language. If you were younger, I’d see your mouth washed out with soap.”

Bruce snorted through his tears, dragging a sleeve across the underside of his nose. “Oh, but you’re past all that now, aren’t you? You wouldn’t hurt a hair on my head because you love us both so fucking much,” he mocked, pacing around his father inside the garage. The man snarled back as he was circled, but Bruce wasn’t done. “You think you can absolve yourself by saying you’ve seen the error of your ways? You think you can _erase_ what you did to her-- to _me?!_ ” His tears hit the pavement in wide droplets, his whole body shaking with rage and hurt. “Do you have any _fucking_ idea what you did to me? What you made me into?! You made me into _you!_ You made me into the same fucking monster you are!!”

“Bruce, this tantrum has gone on long enough,” the man commanded, seeking to regain his authority.

“I’m not going to stop because you _tell_ me to!” Bruce yelled.

Brian grabbed him by the collar. “You. _Will_. Stop,” he returned at equal volume.

“I won’t!” the teenager thrashed in his father’s grip, the soles of his shoes scuffing against the ground. He tried to twist out, but the fingers clenched harder into his jacket. His breath came in quick stitches, heart pounding, his childhood panic threatening to break to the surface. “I won’t I won’t I won’t I won’t!” he cried.

His father lifted his other hand.

“Do it! Hit me!” the teenager screamed. “You’ve been holding back for five years! I know you want to! Just fucking _do it_ already! Hit me!! I don’t know why you ever stopped! Do it!!”

Brian cocked his elbow back, fire in his eyes. In that instant he saw himself reflected in his son's eyes and all at once he knew that behind all the anger was the painful truth. Exhaling roughly through his nose, he unclenched his fingers and let his son drop to the floor, retreating. "This discussion is over," he muttered over his shoulder. The rage was still there, boiling beneath his skin, and still he felt the throbbing urge to swing at his son; he knew that he was standing on the precipice… any more pressure could send him back down the path of violence he was so resolute to keep behind him. He turned for the door. "Go to bed."

Bruce groped for his backpack and found his footing, picking himself back up. His chest was still heaving and he had no intention of doing a word his father said, even if he was tired and had nothing but the clothes on his back. He squared his jaw and clicked the garage door opener on his keyring.

Brian froze at the sound of the door clattering upward, his face twinging. “Where are you going...?” he said, voice low and throaty.

“Tony’s,” Bruce responded, tossing his bag over his shoulder. “To tell him he was right. That you’re nothing more than a fucking coward.”

The words didn’t hit nearly as hard as the notion that all control was slipping through his fingers. This was that Tony boy’s fault. Before Bruce had met the billionaire’s disrespectful son, he’d been hard-working and responsible, he’d done the things expected of him without question. But in the months the two boys had gotten to know one another, his son had become more and more of a rule-breaker, more rebellious and ungrateful. And the fact that his years of instruction were being swept away by some whelp, some little _punk_ … it made his vision go red. He strode after his son with vehement purpose, hand clamping tight onto his shoulder to yank him back from his moped, “Bruce, I will not permit you to leave--”

The boy deflected his arm. Brian snarled and made to set his grip upon his son again, only to be thwarted by a block, tangling up their arms and bringing their faces very close. Bruce hissed, “You can’t make me do a single thing you say. I’m in charge of myself now.” He slapped his father across the face. “Now get off me,” he shoved him back.

The older man stood stunned for half a beat, pressing his hand to where he’d been struck. He gave a yell and threw an uppercut. The hit landed, sending Bruce staggering back against his bike, knocking it to the floor. Before he could begin to regain his senses, his father’s knuckles connected a second time, snapping his head to the side with the force of the blow and sending his glasses skittering to the concrete. Unwilling to stay down, he scrambled for verticality, only to take a third punch to the ear. He fell, head spinning too hard to stay upright, ears ringing like a boxing bell and a throbbing ache quickly spreading throughout his entire face.

Brian stepped back, his fists still tight and his countenance unreadable. “Remember that you asked me to do this, and the blame does not lie with me,” he spoke down at his son, readjusting the collar of his shirt. “Consider your curfew revoked.”

Bruce watched as the blurry figure of his father withdrew and went back inside the house. Despite the pain he was in, he felt a chuckle rise in his chest, echoing hollowly in his lungs. He’d won, more or less. Bruce reached for his glasses a few feet away, scrutinizing them to ensure they were intact before gingerly returning them to his face. After a few more minutes, he tested his legs, using his bike to help him stand. He seemed alright, save the swelling he could already feel on the right half of his face; he touched it and winced. He licked his lips, grunting at the sting and taste of iron it returned. Okay, a little less alright than he thought.

He gave himself another couple minutes before righting his moped. He could just fall into bed, battle won, but in light of his freedom from his curfew, he wanted to make use of it. The teen dug into his pocket and pulled out his cell. He’d gotten a few messages back from his friend and they’d stacked up; he scrolled through them.

_‘Love you too.’_

_‘How was class?’_

_‘Hey did you forget to turn your phone back on? I’m home now. Free to text if you want.’_

_‘Okay seriously is something wrong? You always text me back. This isn’t about Saturday night, is it? Because I said it was no big deal. Would you please just shoot me a text or something before you go to bed?’_

Bruce rubbed his forehead gently. _‘Sorry, I haven’t been able to really get to my phone much tonight. I’ll tell you about it when I get there. Leave the door unlocked for me.’_ He gathered his backpack back up.

Tony’s response came back in less than a minute, _‘You haven’t left JC yet??’_

_‘I’ll be there soon.’_ Bruce sufficed. He fired up the moped and coasted it down the driveway, closing the garage door before speeding off.

\--

Tony lay there on the living room couch, trying his best not to check his phone every five seconds. It was naturally a losing battle.

_‘I’ll be there soon.’_

He’d stared long enough now that the text had slowly faded out of focus and back in again, and yet he still continued to scrutinize the message he’d been sent. What was there to tell? What had happened with Bruce while he’d been out enjoying himself with friends? 

The door handle jiggled, breaking his concentration and he sat up in response. The hinges gave a light creak as Bruce entered into the dim light of the foyer, tempting him to squint but the action hurt so he promptly stopped. He shut the door behind him, but trying to do so quietly out of courtesy for his friend’s father.

"Hey, so what the Hell happened?" Tony hopped to his feet quicker than he would comfortably confess to anyone, taking quick but restrained strides towards his friend. When he was close enough to see Bruce’s face in the light, though, he knew immediately what had kept the other teen from answering his texts. He felt a rush of empathy, followed by confusion. This was exactly the kind of thing he’d worried might happen when Bruce kept breaking curfew to see him. But tonight they _hadn’t_ done that, so what the Hell had happened? Deeper than all of that though, Tony just felt angry. "That bastard," he seethed, fists clenching, "I'm gonna fucking kill him."

Bruce just gave Tony a look over his glasses that said ‘No you’re not.’, moving further inside.

"What happened, Bruce?" Tony asked exasperatedly, staying in place, but turning to face his friend as he walked past. "And I hope you're gonna put some ice on that," he added as an afterthought.

That was probably a good idea, along with some Advil to further keep down the swelling. “I had a talk with my dad about my curfew,” he said as if that had really been all the more it was. He set down his backpack as he entered the kitchen. “Coincidentally, I don’t have one anymore.”

Tony scoffed, put off by how aloof Bruce's answers were. "What, so he beat it out of you?"

The teen shrugged as he scooped ice into a washcloth and bundled it up. “That’s what it took. Besides, I kind of told him to do it.” He pulled off his glasses, folding them up and slipping them into his pocket so he could press the makeshift ice pack to his face. He hissed lightly at the sensation.

"You told him to hit you. What, you mean he wasn't going to?" Tony's brow furrowed in further confusion. None of this was making any sense to him. Bruce wasn't doing a good job of explaining anything, and he didn't look the least bit upset or shaken over the whole thing. He didn't even know why Bruce had come by at this point. It didn't seem like it was for comfort, in any case.

Bruce sat down on one of the stools, dropping his defocused gaze to the floor. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to see if he would still.”

"That's a pretty fucked up gamble to take; you know that, right?" Tony replied opening the refrigerator and retrieving a can of soda, popping the top and setting it down on the counter next to his friend. "Drink," he ordered.

The boy gave a difficult chuckle. “Yeah.” He lowered the ice pack to pick up the beverage and take a long swallow before setting it back down, finding he was growing contemplative upon his friend’s questioning. Everything had happened so fast in that garage, and looking back on it now made his head spin. Or maybe that was head trauma. He reapplied the ice. “He tried to tell me he’d been wrong hitting Mom and I,” he said sullenly. “That he loves the two of us. That he was trying to be better now.”

"My dad..." Tony bit his tongue, unsure whether it would be welcome to mention that his father had said nearly the same thing not too long ago, and had actually managed to deliver on that promise. Tony hadn't believed it at the time either, and they still had a way to go, but the fact remained that it was possible for a tiger to change his stripes. Still, that might not be what Bruce needed to hear right now.

Bruce hadn’t seemed to have heard him. He lowered the ice pack again, expression shifting to fury. “I think this proves he was lying.”

"Hm," Tony grunted. Nope, definitely not what Bruce wanted to hear right now. "So I'm guessing you're not going home tonight." He shifted on his feet. It was a logical conclusion, unless his friend was looking for a quick lay, which actually wasn’t unlikely considering their history. Bruce seemed to handle his family issues in a very... particular way.

Bruce’s eyes shifted state again to slight worry. “It’s alright if I stay, right? I’m sorry, I just kind of rushed over without asking...” He knew he hadn’t thought this through before leaving, but he had always considered the Stark household a safe haven.

Tony scoffed, "Don't be stupid; of course you can." He reached over and took a swig from Bruce's can of soda before continuing, "He's not gonna come pounding on the door, is he?"

The other teen shook his head. “He knew I was going. I told him he couldn’t stop me.” He adjusted the ice against his face.

"Oh," Tony replied, expression an amalgam of shock and worry, "So... uh..." He cleared his throat, "You want a beer? Snack? Movie?"

Bruce cracked a wry smile at his friend’s offers. “We still have school in the morning, you know. I’ll take some Advil.”

Tony nodded, "Right." He rushed off, disappearing behind the doorway and returning a few moments later with a bottle, "Plain old aspirin okay? I keep this bottle by my bed just in case of emergencies."

“Yeah. Thanks,” Bruce took it, giving the other boy a kiss on the cheek.

Tony shrugged his shoulder playfully, "If you get blood on me I fucking swear."

“I didn’t,” Bruce responded, setting down the ice pack and putting his glasses back on. He shook a couple of pills into his palm. Then it occurred to him to ask. “You’ve been doing better since… you know, that last attack at my house, right?” He popped them into his mouth and swallowed them down with a gulp of soda.

Tony coughed, "Well, yeah, I mean... no attacks since and… yeah, no problems lately to speak of."

“That’s good,” Bruce smiled at the news, then drummed his fingers awkwardly on the side of his soda can. “Sorry, I know you hate being asked that question.”

Tony scratched the back of his head, turning to look at the microwave as if it were suddenly interesting. Yeah, he used to detest that question. Of course it occurred to him that maybe he had only hated it because of who had been asking. "Yeah, no it's fine,” he answered quickly. “Thanks for caring."

That was an odd response, but Bruce wouldn’t question it. “You too,” he expressed.

Tony nodded, eyes shooting to the kitchen floor. He was being stupid. Why was he _insisting_ upon keeping the most recent news about his condition a secret? The guy had straight up _asked_ him how he was. A few moments passed before he fessed up, "They told me they want me to wear the Holter monitor again. Longer next time."

Bruce frowned, adjusting his glasses. “Did something warrant that?”

Tony nodded again, less firmly this time. He knew he could trust Bruce with the information, but it didn't make it any easier for him to acknowledge, let alone say out loud. "They noticed... similarities in the results from the last one."

There was information missing there. “Similarities to…?”

“To my mom,” Tony tried for nonchalant and failed miserably, “Before everything went downhill."

Bruce felt his heart skip at least a beat and a hot tingle of dread and panic on the back of his neck. “How conclusive--?” he started to ask.

“It’s not… It doesn’t mean that I’m--” Tony took a slow breath and tried again, “They just want to monitor me again for longer. Just to get a better idea. Plus, they put me on this new antiarrhythmic prescription, so… yeah. That’s probably gonna help.”

Bruce nodded his way through the explanation, concern still clenched tight in his gut. “Yeah, right. Sorry,” he apologized again. After a moment he looked back up, “You’ll tell me how it goes or if there’s any change?”

Tony nodded weakly, “Yeah, of course. Don’t worry.” In spite of the gravity of the subject, he felt a lot better now having gotten it out in the open with his pal.

Bruce exhaled. “I’ll try not to,” he said with a slight smile, standing to kiss his friend on the forehead and put the worrisome conversation to rest for the time being. He raked his fingers through the other boy’s hair, lightly massaging his scalp. “Want to head to bed? I don’t have anything packed but...”

“You can borrow some of my clothes for tonight. And school tomorrow,” Tony reassured him, uncomfortable with asking whether Bruce would be returning home the next day. “As long as you need,” he settled. “And yes, my toothbrush too.”

“Thanks,” Bruce nuzzled his nose briefly against the other boy’s. Everything worrying him aside, he was really looking forward to sleeping in the same bed as Tony again... wrapping his arms around him, pressing his face into the back of his neck and drifting off… waking up beside him. Those hits he’d taken to the face had been worth it he decided.

“Anytime,” Tony smiled before taking the opportunity to steal a quick kiss, “Alright, off to bed. I’ve been celebrating all night and I’m exhausted.”

Two questions popped into Bruce’s head simultaneously, and he rolled his tongue around in his mouth as he decided which of them to ask. He caught Tony’s hand just as the other boy was pulling away. “Wait. Celebrating what?” Yeah, Tony had made an impromptu visit to Steve’s, but an explanation as to why had never been supplied.

Tony almost choked, scrambling to cover for his slip, “Oh. Well, Thor just got a new apprentice delivery boy, so he’s pretty stoked about it, and I kind of got strong-armed into joining the party. By the way, did you know he’s living with Steve now?”

“I heard something like that,” Bruce answered. The situation admittedly baffled him a little, but then again, Phil Coulson seemed to practically live there as well. But it really wasn’t any of his business what the Rogers’ did. He brushed hair out of his face and licked his lips before voicing his second question. “You’re uh… not _that_ exhausted, are you?”

It took an extra second to clue in, but when he had, a chuckle was Tony’s only response as he tugged Bruce up the stairs two-by-two. “You’re insatiable,” he attempted to scold.

A smile wormed its way over the big guy’s face. “You haven’t stopped obliging me,” he pointed out.

“Just remember it’s a school night,” Tony mock-warned, “So… two, three hours, tops.”

Bruce smirked, reaching out to pinch the other boy on the back of the thigh as they entered his room. “Just get your pants off and fuck me.”


	51. Chapter 51

“Brian.”

_‘You_ forgot _what love is!!’_

“Brian?”

_‘You made me into_ you! _You made me into the same fucking monster you are!!’_

His wife’s voice at last speared through his thoughts. “Brian, I asked if you’d like more coffee.” He looked up to see her brow pinched tightly in the middle, holding the carafe of hot liquid.

The physicist shook his head rather roughly. “Apologies, Rebecca; I was a bit lost in thought.” He extended the mug. “Yes, thank you.”

Rebecca carefully poured until it was nearly at the top. “You said Bruce went over to stay the night at Tony’s?” she seemed a bit confused.

“Ah,” Brian clicked his tongue. He addressed the subject carefully. “Yes. I… made the decision to revoke his curfew. The boy has... learned his lesson, I believe, and he is capable of making his own decisions,” he concluded briskly, putting the mug to his lips.

“Oh,” that cleared things up for her. She returned the carafe to the coffee maker. “Well, I’m certain he’s glad to be able to spend more time with his friend again.” The woman paused to smile. “He does enjoy his company a great deal, you know.”

Brian gave a grunt. One of the last things he wanted to talk about right now was Howard’s boy. He knew, deep down, that last night’s altercation had been about a lot more than his son’s insistence on seeing Anthony. He would have to be a fool to think as much. The things Bruce had said to him… How had he come to be so out of touch with his son without realizing it...? “Yes, I know,” he answered gruffly.

“You also know there’s nothing wrong with that,” the woman added.

Brian drew the mug away from his lips to wet them. He tip-toed around the subject, “The boy mustn’t allow himself to become too distracted--”

“Brian,” she interrupted, causing him to blink in genuine surprise, “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

His wife’s words were strikingly firm. She wasn’t asking his opinion, she was _telling_ him. His gaze dropped from hers, truly questioning why he’d struck such an opposition to his son’s friendship with the other boy. If there was any validity to it at all. _‘You have no_ idea _how I feel!’_ Brian frowned as his son’s words came back to him. _‘You never cared to know. The only thing you care about is keeping me under your heel.’_ Brian shut his eyes. “No, there isn’t,” he at last capitulated.

Rebecca nodded, as if satisfied. Her gentle demeanor returned. “Bruce came to me asking about us recently,” she mentioned as she sat at the dining table beside her husband.

This topic made Brian almost equally uncomfortable. “In what regard?” he ventured.

“He wanted to know what we were like when we were younger. Back when we were dating,” the woman elucidated.

Brian’s eyebrows dropped down. That was odd. He issued a ‘hm’.

“I told him quite a bit, but I think it would be good if you spoke to him about it as well. If he heard it from you,” Rebecca stated.

That conversation was unlikely to be a welcome one at this juncture, considering the young man’s words. Though he couldn’t deny, _especially_ now, it was likely of some importance that he do so. Brian suppressed a grimace. “I will endeavor to do so.” There was a short silence between them before he sought to fill it. “Tell me, Rebecca, are you liking work?” he diverted.

“Oh yes, certainly,” Rebecca cooed. “It’s been so invigorating to be back. And so many things are so stream-lined nowadays-- to think, we used to have to program with punch cards!” She laughed and Brian found himself chuckling as well. “How things change…” she marvelled.

Brian’s gaze lowered to the tabletop, his tongue fishing around the inside of his mouth for a sentiment that wasn’t there. “Yes…” he spoke, “how they do. And don’t.”

Her hand fell atop his and he looked up. She looked worried a moment. “Is something the matter, dear?”

Brian hurriedly shirked from her gaze. “Nothing to concern yourself over,” he deflected.

Rebecca seemed to take that at face value. “You should finish your coffee, dear; we have to be going soon.”

They were carpooling in today. He nodded. “Yes, of course,” he lifted his cup and drained it.

\--

Tony’s alarm clock went off in the cacophony of a heavy metal radio station at seven AM. Bruce let out a pained groan as forced consciousness awakened the nerves in the side his face, reminding him of the physical aspect of what had transpired the night before. “Fuck,” he grated out, rolling onto his side and grabbing the pillow to cover both ears. “Could you get that?” he grunted at the teen beside him who was on the same side of the bed as the alarm.

Tony groaned and swatted blindly in the direction of the noise, before realizing that he couldn’t avoid getting up if he wanted to shut the alarm off. With a mutter, he sat up and rubbed his eyes briefly, before slapping the snooze button all the more spitefully. “Rise and shine,” he grumbled in Bruce’s direction. “Hey.” He gave the other boy a light swat when he didn’t move.

Bruce hadn’t heard through the pillow, but he felt the strike. He rolled back onto his back.

Tony got up and headed for the bathroom to relieve himself. “You wouldn’t be interested in calling out sick by any chance?” he called back.

Bruce sat up, his brow wrinkling in slight confusion. “What’s that?” he asked Tony to repeat, not quite having caught it.

The toilet flushed. Bruce turned his head from one side to the other, listening intently to the sound. That was weird. It seemed like he could hear it more clearly with his right ear. Tony appeared in the bedroom doorway, fiddling with the drawstring on his bed pants. “I asked if you wanna call out sick.”

“You know I can’t,” Bruce answered-- he’d need a parent to make the call and there was no way that was happening (and plus, he couldn’t afford to get behind if he could help it). He sighed, pulling himself out of bed. “How does it look?” he inquired then, turning his head to the side for Tony to see.

Tony winced, the reflexive hiss of air being sucked in through gritted teeth telling Bruce it wasn’t good. It had obviously swollen up again after the meds had worn off, now an ugly amalgamation of purple and blue and a faint yellow-green around the edges. “It’s… well, in comparison to…” Tony sighed, giving up, “It’s a shiner, but I’m pretty sure I’ve seen worse.”

“Think anyone’s gonna ask questions?” he grumbled as he searched through his friend’s dresser for some clothes to wear.

Tony pat Bruce’s back reassuringly, “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

\--

“Du-hu-hu-ude!” Clint squawked, his eyes bulging out as he hobbled himself in front of Bruce’s path. “What’d you do to get _that?_ ” Bruce tried to step around him, but the archer seemed to be more and more proficient on those crutches every day, easily back-peddling to stay in front of him.

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, grumbling, “I hate being wrong...”

“Come on. It’s gotta be one killer story; I wanna hear it!”

Tony heard Bruce growl and he quickly stepped around Bruce to block Clint, “Back off, Icarus.”

“Tch, what’re you, his keeper?” the boy rolled his eyes.

Tony grabbed Clint by the collar and led him away, speaking in a harsh whisper, “Did you fly too close to the sun this morning, or are you just socially retarded? He doesn’t want to talk about it, let alone have you cawing about it in the middle of a crowded school hallway! Why don’t you just tweet CPS while you’re at it and save the rumor mill an afternoon?”

“Okay, alright, I’ll lay off!” Clint held his hands up, crutches pinched under his armpits. “I didn’t know it was any big deal…” he muttered, looking away.

Tony’s senses caught up to him, and suddenly he was very embarrassed. They were kind of friends now after all. He should have thought of a way to do this that was a less forceful. “Sorry,” he relinquished his grip on the other teen’s collar, “It’s just that you’ve seen how Bruce handles positive attention, imagine how much worse it would be if it _wasn’t_ positive. He could… you know,” he shrugged off in lieu of saying what he’d thought to say, which was ‘flip out’. “I’m just looking after the guy.”

“No, no, I get it.” Clint was abnormally circumspect, staring off in Bruce’s direction. “He really get hit by one of his parents?” he eventually relinquished, barely meeting eyes with him.

Hearing that question was like ice water in Tony’s veins. He cringed, tone going defensive. It wasn’t his secret to share. “I never said he did.”

“You said CPS, bro,” Clint stated. He shook his head. “That sucks though,” there seemed to be genuine empathy in his words, “I’m sorry for him.”

Tony locked eyes with Clint and stared intently. If Clint was saying what it sounded like he was saying, then it might be helpful to have the two to talk after all. Maybe Bruce needed someone who could relate to his home situation a little better than Tony could. Even if not, he really couldn’t do much to keep the other boy from acting, not with Natasha still having nothing to do with him. Either way, he wasn’t going to be held directly responsible for encouraging that talk, just in case it backfired, and he was doubly sure he didn’t want that happening in a large crowd. He stepped back, squaring his gaze on the archer. “I didn’t tell you anything,” the tone was less threatening, and more pleading, “But, if there was anything to talk about, I’d probably talk about it with Bruce.” He applied a little more emphasis as he finished, “Quietly, and in private.”

“Yeah, man, I understand.” There was a pause. “Hey, you better go play hero,” Clint nodded his head Bruce’s way. Tony turned to look. In his absence, a crowd had found their way to the big guy, likely remnants of the mini fanclub he’d accrued since the Unity Bonfire. Bruce was doing his best in keeping his back to them, hiding behind his locker door.

“Oh, fuck me,” Tony groaned, shooting Clint an apologetic look over his shoulder and a quick “See you at lunch.” before wading his way through the crowd and preparing to wave them away.

“Master Banner! You wear new battlewound! Praytell, what heroics have earned you this mark?”

“Was it Glendale again?” Natasha stepped in to hypothesize, likely more comfortable drawing attention to herself in Clint’s absence, “After those fireworks, it seems like they’re willing to do anything to try and disrepute us.”

“Funny story, Thor,” Tony cut in, putting a protective arm around Bruce, “Awful fist fight, full of tons of honor and glory and all that shit. And we’d love to tell you every gory detail, but we gotta go; I’ll catch you after class.”

Bruce let out a soft sigh as Tony parted the crowd and got them away; it was temporary, he was sure, but at least the pressure was off for now and he could feel his muscles untighten. “Thanks,” he murmured to his friend.

“It’s fine. It’s none of their business unless you say so,” Tony said, prodding his forefinger into the other teen’s chest. “Just because they’re my friends doesn’t mean they can’t respect your privacy.” The billionaire’s son froze, eyes widening. The words felt foreign rolling off his tongue, “Acquaintances. I-I... meant acquaintances.”

“You can call them your friends,” Bruce shrugged, though the admission on Tony’s part turned his gut a little. Tony _was_ making an effort to make new friends since their not-a-date stargazing flop then. “I’m not going to think any less of you,” he added, “if that’s your concern.”

Tony shrugged, “Just not used to it.” It was a half truth, “I only usually ever have one or two at a time.” Wait, that sounded borderline conceited. Tony backpedaled, “Not that I’m a snob or anything, I just--” _‘People don’t stay around long.’_ his head filled in, _‘Obie cut and ran with my science fair project in eighth grade, Rhodey left me behind for basic training and didn’t tell me until graduation day, and of course Phil gravitated to Steve as soon as the guy finished puberty. The list goes on and on. And with you--’_ The thought ended there, abruptly. He was doing nothing but feeding his own paranoia thinking about such things. Bruce wasn’t going anywhere. ‘Travelling side by side.’ Tony resumed, “You know. I’m just saying.” He followed with a lame shrug.

“Yeah, I know,” Bruce answered, knowing there was probably a lot his friend wasn’t saying. They stopped in front of the door to his homeroom. “See you in English,” he imparted, sorely hoping that he could go that long without the other boy’s intervention.

Tony nodded, relieved. “Yeah. You uhh… keep your head down, or whatever,” he finished awkwardly, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

Bruce didn’t respond, disappearing inside.

Tony frowned, wondering if he’d said something wrong.

\--

Bruce set his food tray down at his and Tony’s usual table. The other boy hadn’t gotten there yet, but he’d probably be along soon. He pulled out his phone to send him a text.

He was so focused on the device, Bruce almost didn’t notice the sound of Clint’s crutches as he hobbled up and stopped just within his peripheral vision. Pointedly, he ignored the other student’s presence, pretending to still be composing a message on his phone. But Clint didn’t go away. The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity before Bruce sighed out an expectant, “… _yes?_ ”

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to ask any more questions about your face; I’m actually, uh…” the archer balanced carefully to scratch behind his ear, “Sort of sorry? I mean, about all the questions earlier. I definitely wasn’t thinking. I do that sometimes. Leap before I look.” He swayed uncomfortably on his crutches, “Uh, is it all good if I sit here?” 

Instead of answering right away, Bruce eyed the boy up and down distrustfully, not in a particularly patient mood and still suspicious despite the apology. He and Barton hadn’t gotten along all that well in the past, and unlike Tony, Bruce wasn’t exactly seeking new friendships in his classmates. “Don’t you have a lunch to eat?”

“Yeah, so about that…” Clint mumbled nervously, gradually becoming more and more interested in idly scraping the rubber nub of his right crutch along the floor, “Nat’s still not speaking to me, and I really can’t carry a tray and walk at the same time… I mean, I tried balancing it on my head the first day, but it didn’t work out so well, so, uh…”

Bruce exhaled testily. “Fine, you can sit.”

“Sweet,” Clint said more out of habit than any actual exuberance. He nodded awkwardly, before slipping into a semi-comfortable seated position on the bench next to Bruce even _more_ awkwardly, “Okay, so, uh…”

Bruce didn’t even engage that, staring straight ahead and putting a forkful of cafeteria food in his mouth.

Clint tapped his forefinger on the tabletop and blurted it out point-blank. “Anyone ever tell you I was a foster kid?”

Bruce blinked, lowering his utensil. That had no context with any of their previous conversations or interactions whatsoever. Unless he’d heard the boy wrong. “Run that by me again?”

“Foster kid. You know. It’s when the court takes you away from your parents because--”

“I _know_ what the foster system is,” the teen shook his head short-temperedly. “Why are you telling me?”

Clint clenched his fingers and relaxed, fanning his hands out on the top of the table, “Just _listen_ , okay? Damn, man.”

“You better spit it out in the next fifteen seconds or I’ll be personally ‘escorting’ you to a new seat,” Bruce growled.

“Way to put the pressure on,” Clint sighed, rolling his sleeve up to his elbow and proceeding to undo the straps on his archery armguard. Bruce’s eyebrow lifted; he hadn’t ever seen the boy _not_ wearing the piece of sports gear, which he’d chalked up to the fact that the kid was obsessive about his hobby. Though thinking about it now, he had to admit it was weird he’d be wearing it currently, with his leg broken, as there was no way he could be participating for probably the next several weeks. 

Clint finished unclasping the last buckle reluctantly, removing the accessory warily and slapping his palm back down on the tabletop reflexively. He sighed and remembered the clock was ticking. If he didn’t suck it up and just turn his wrist Banner would probably just assume he was trying to show him his tan lines. With one last deep breath, he turned his hand out so his palm was facing the ceiling. “There. Okay? You’re not alone.”

Bruce pushed up his spectacles and felt himself lean in somewhat to study what was being shown to him. Reddish, indented marks dotted the archer’s skin where the guard had been covering-- were they… cigarette burns? They looked in no way recent, healed as much as they would ever be. “I don’t…” he began, not understanding, but it was congealing. This wasn’t just another of the accident-prone boy’s many bumps or scrapes; these had been purposefully _hidden_. They’d been inflicted. Bruce felt self-defense flare inside him. He grabbed Clint by the collar with one hand. “What did Tony tell you??” he demanded.

“Dude, lay off!” Clint flapped his arms. “He didn’t tell me anything! Nobody did! I just kind of…” he trailed off. Okay, he was _really_ glad he hadn’t taken the ‘quiet and in private’ route or he’d soon have a shiner to match Banner’s. “...it made sense, okay??”

Bruce’s grip laxed and he turned back to face front, hunching over the tabletop dolefully. He was seething, but he was also scared, and he didn’t want word spreading. His heart was pounding. “You _can’t_ tell anyone…” he breathed out as if it were some kind of command, even as he recognized that he had no control over this situation and that Barton could go cawing from every building rooftop, Twitter aside.

The archer smoothed down his front, but nodded, staring forward much like Bruce was. “Yeah, no, man, I get it.” He’d been there before. There was quiet between them for a long while. He turned eyes back to the scars on his inner forearm, “See, thing is, my mom gave me these. Not my foster mom-- that’d be even more jacked-- I mean my real mom.”

Bruce glanced at him uncertainly, feeling a slight clench in his gut. Clint traced his fingertips around the marks with almost undue fascination as he took a second to consider if this was a story he really wanted to tell. He hadn’t shared it with anyone besides a therapist, and the thought of doing so made his chest tighten anxiously even now. Still, he’d rather be sharing it with someone his age who had a chance of actually understanding than some down-talking suit. “I had an older brother, but he ran away from home way before I was even a glimmer in my daddy’s eye. By the way, I never knew him either, cuz he hit the road before I was born. Which Mom totally blamed me for. And I’m _assuming_ he was my dad, cuz he totally could’ve not been, knowing her.” He chuckled, closing his eyes briefly. If he concentrated hard enough he could still smell his mother’s too-strong perfume, mingled with the tint of tobacco she was trying and failing to cover up.

Bruce had long since stopped eating. He toyed with his fork idly as what Barton was revealing to him really sunk in and took root. “The only parent you had left was abusive?” he asked. At least he’d had his mom to hold onto on those rough nights when his dad had put his hand to him. He was sympathetic to the parental harm Barton was speaking of, but otherwise couldn’t identify.

“Hey now, easy,” the other teen raised his hands up as if in defense of her, “My mom was _messed_. More messed than I am, prolly. Yeah, she blamed me for dad leaving, but he was a drunk and a scumbag. Far as I knew he used to beat her too. Least from the stories she told me about him.” Barton shrugged lamely, “I can believe it; it was the same with every guy she ever brought home for more than a couple nights.”

“When did you get taken away?” Bruce asked, adjusting his glasses.

“I don’t know. I was young. Nine or something,” Clint clamped a hand over his exposed wrist self-consciously as a classmate walked by with her tray. He peeled his hand off cautiously to show Bruce how many there were, “One for every time I bothered her while she had a guy over. I’ll admit I was a little shit, but cuhhh _mon_.” The joke was flat and out of place, but he didn’t really care. His tone became hostile. “Still. I didn’t like a lot of those guys. They needed to fuck off. Mom’d lock me in whatever room, but I always found a way to get out and stir up trouble. And whaddya know if as soon as they found out there was a bratty pre-pubescent caught up in the mix, they were hopping on the next bus out of town.”

Bruce’s eyebrows drew down. “You actively sabotaged your mom’s relationships?”

“Those guys were assholes!” Clint snapped. “None of ‘em gave two shits about her. If she’d just had an ounce, a _shred_ of self-respect…” he aggressively wiped his damp eyes. “Ugh, _whatever_.” He folded his arms tightly. “Anyway, point is, she punished me. Maybe it was just her way of keeping score. And she taught me how to keep ‘em covered during school.” Clint shook his head slowly, “One day, though, I was showing off during recess; there was this huge oak tree that no other kid had managed to get to the top of, so of course I had to try it. Got further than anyone else, by the way. Pretty proud of that. But what do you know if I fell just a couple of branches from the top? Broke my arm on the way down. That’s when the infirmary found the burns. CPS came, everything went crazy. Mom screeched at those courtroom lawyers to let her keep me. Obviously, she didn’t get to. I ended up getting placed with the Barton family.”

Bruce pushed his peas around with his plastic fork. Sounded like the system worked, at least in some regards. It had gotten him out of the immediate bad situation, but there was no question that Barton was still a troubled youth with the number of less than reputable of his behaviors. And the time he’d spent in juvie before coming to Westmore was no secret. “Good you got into a better home,” he commented detachedly.

Clint sighed and shook his head, “Guess so. Didn’t fix everything though. Oh sure, they _think_ it will, but it doesn’t. Damage is already done. I’m still a ‘glutton for punishment’. A little pain’s been known to get me off.” He tapped his good foot rapidly beneath the table. “I get anxious whenever I think I smell her perfume. And I can’t keep from flinching whenever someone near me lights a cigarette.” His fingertips tapped harshly on the table as he continued, “I don’t even really know if there’s a moral to any of this. Bad things happen to good people? Okay, ‘good’ might be a little generous for me, but I don’t think I deserved it. Not really. And some things never end up going away.”

Bruce sighed softly, pushing his tray away. Wasn’t that the truth? His anger was one of those things. His fear of romantic relationships was another. All of this begged of him to ‘open up’ and tell his story to the other teen, start a rapport with him. But this was a lunch room, not a therapy session. Damn it, where was Tony to save him from all this? He regarded the teen sitting on the bench with him. “Not that I don’t appreciate you telling me this, but I’d really rather not share.”

“I get it, bro. It’s not like we’re best buds or anything,” Clint huffed, shaking his head as he began to put his arm guard back on, buckling each strap to its tightest possible notch, “You think I go around sharing this? I don’t _ever_ tell people about this.” He gestured down at his leg cast, “I tell people how I broke my leg on the slope, I tell ‘em how I got electrocuted on those power lines, I run my mouth off about all the crazy shit I’ve gotten into. _That’s_ the kind of thing I can actually share with people.” Bruce made mental note of the discrepancy. Clint folded his arms across his chest. “I just saw you today and I got excited, because I thought maybe there was someone else around here who’d actually _understand_.” 

Bruce bit the inside of his mouth. He did understand. Better than he’d like to, honestly. Save Tony, _he_ didn’t tell anyone either. But that didn’t mean he needed, or even in any way _wanted_ this conversation that was being forced upon him. “What about Natasha?” he tried to direct away from himself.

Clint shook his head again. “We don’t have that kind of relationship,” he admitted regretfully, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s kind of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’. She likes her privacy, and I don’t really wanna ruffle any feathers.” Clint chuckled darkly at the unintentional play on words, “I mean… well, you know. Long story short: No, she doesn’t know.”

Bruce opened his mouth to respond to that when he caught sight of Tony emerging through the double doors of the cafeteria. Oh thank God. Relief washed over him.

“ _Ladies_ ,” Tony crooned mockingly, setting his lunch bag down on the table next to Bruce. He paused when he saw Clint roll his sleeve back down in a hurry, “What’s up?”

“Nothing--” Clint started.

“Took you long enough,” Bruce mumbled, grabbing for his fork again.

Clint hooked his thumb at the nearest exit, “Yeah, I should probably--”

“You’re not eating?” Tony asked, raising an eyebrow at the empty space on the table in front of Clint.

“Yeah, about that. Like I told Banner here, I can’t carry--”

“Crippled. Got it,” Tony finished for him, snapping his fingers, “Be right back.”

Bruce cleared his throat. This left them alone again, and, furthermore, solidified that he wouldn’t be alone with his friend the rest of lunch period. _‘Thanks a lot, Tony.’_ he groused privately. He went back to eating stone-facedly like if he ignored the unwelcome member of the table hard enough, he would just up and vanish.

Clint didn’t feel any more comfortable sitting there. Truth be told, he’d be spending the rest of his lunch on the roof like usual if it weren’t for this damn cast, instead of sharing this awkward silence with The Incredible Sulk. At the rate this was going, he’d have plenty of time to renew his efforts, assuming Banner didn’t already want to toss his ass up there.

“Back,” Tony chirped out, setting a well-stocked lunch tray down on the table in front of Clint. 

Clint’s eyes lit up with gratitude briefly, before darkening again, “Thanks, bro, but can you do me a favor and put that on the table over there? I think I overstayed my welcome.”

“No, no, it’s fine, man. Stick around,” Tony reassured the archery champ, “What am I, a stickler magnet?” Bruce stopped chewing; he flicked his gaze upward long enough to catch Tony’s with a look of ‘I want to have a talk with you later.’ and remained silent. “So did you see Pulp Fiction was on USA last night?” Tony asked.

Clint flashed a half smile, glad for the distraction, “Probably edited to shit.” He stopped poking at his food and started actually eating.

Tony followed suit, pulling a sandwich out of his bag, “Oh without a doubt. But what do you expect?”

“Censorship is such bullshit, man,” Clint griped before taking a swig from his milk carton.

“One could argue that we should just suck it up and watch the DVD,” Tony countered, almost Bruce-like.

“That sounds like a bitchin’ idea,” Clint replied as his lips slowly split into a wide grin.

“You’re right. But why stop with Pulp Ficton? I’ve got Kill Bill 1 and 2 on Blu-Ray. I’ll pencil it in sometime this week,” Tony nodded, pretending to search for his non-existent day planner.

Bruce finished his food and sighed. It was tempting to find a new table, but he was too stubborn for that, leaning over to grab his backpack from the floor. He unzipped it and pulled out his Calculus homework, turning to his right and finding a little relief to the volume of the other two’s trivial conversation; he immersed himself.

He was interrupted by an elbow bumping him in the arm. Tony repeated himself, “I said ‘are you interested?’. We can make a night of it.”

Bruce pulled his head up, frowning as he pushed up his glasses. The implication that Barton would be there wasn’t lost on him. “I’d rather not.”

Tony shrugged, biting his lower lip, “Suit yourself.” If Bruce was doing this on purpose, the last thing Tony was going to do was coddle him. He rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to Clint, “So, as far as snacks go…”

The bell rang. Bruce watched out of the corner of his eye as Clint picked himself up from his seat and got back onto his crutches. “It’s been real, dudes,” he said.

“Yeah, catch you later!” Tony gave a nod of his chin.

Bruce slowly put away his things, only speaking up once he was certain Hawkboy was well out of the range of human earshot. “Tony,” he said with some sternness.

“Yeah?” Tony lifted his focus from the task of gathering up what remained of his lunch to throw away. He had a feeling he knew what was coming.

“Exactly what was that?”

“What do you mean?” Tony scoffed, crumpling the remaining scraps and wrappers into a ball and slipping them into a trash can absently, “We were talking.”

“I _mean_ what the Hell do you think you’re doing?” Bruce growled, smacking his lunch tray down loudly on the return stack. “Is he going to be invited to everything from now on? You _know_ I don’t get along with other people. Why are you trying to push Clint onto me?”

“Okay, listen,” Tony interjected, holding a hand up, “It’s one night. And what do you mean ‘pushing Clint onto you’? I came here and he was sitting at our table.”

Bruce sighed frustratedly, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Not because I _wanted_ him there. He wouldn’t go away.”

“Well what did he want?” Tony asked.

The boy held his tongue a moment, not answering directly. “Did you tell him?” he asked bluntly, still suspicious that Barton hadn’t actually made the connection on his own.

“Are you crazy? No!” Tony gawked, the implication stinging a little. “He made an educated guess and decided to run with it. I figured he was gonna try to talk to you later, not this soon. I warned him not to bother you in public, but I guess he couldn’t wait.”

Bruce rolled his tongue around in his mouth, trying desperately to ignore the anger that was building up inside him by the second. “You didn’t tell him to back off because it’s none of his business and I don’t want to goddamn talk about it? And you _know_ that?” he gave Tony a shove on the chest upon the ‘you’.

“Clint does what he wants. The only one who’s ever been able to keep him in check is giving him the silent treatment. The only thing I could do was try and minimize the damage. If I’d known he’d bother you this soon I would have warned you at English.” Tony didn’t like the aggressive turn that the conversation was taking. He rubbed the spot on his chest where Bruce had pushed him. “The fuck did he even have to say to you?”

Bruce frowned hard. “That’s none of _your_ business,” he grumbled, slinging his backpack over a shoulder.

“Fine, whatever,” Tony kept his voice low and his gestures to a minimum. Neither of them wanted to turn heads, “But I am _not_ forcing a god damn _thing_ on you. You know that.” The fury in his glare indicated that he was referring to more than just the current situation, “And God _forbid_ I have Clint, or Thor or Steve over every once in a while. I know you don’t get along with other people. Does that mean I’m not allowed to hang out with anyone but you? I’m sorry; I wasn’t aware you were being sarcastic earlier when you said I could have other friends.”

Bruce felt his stomach twist. “I wasn’t being sarcastic,” he began.

“So you were just lying then,” Tony countered.

“No. I wasn’t,” Bruce stated firmly. “Tony, this isn’t about you.”

Tony’s shoulders squared. “What do you want from me then? I’m _sorry_. Okay? I’m sorry I told a person that if they planned on talking to you they’d better not embarrass you in public. It must have been really important if he was approaching _you_ , since I’m the only guy in our school who’s ever managed to get away with it.”

Bruce sighed again. The apology did a lot to cool him down, even if it was a loaded apology. “You _are_ the only one…” he murmured. “I’d like to keep it that way a little longer, if possible, alright?” he said imploringly.

“Well I’ll go tell him to leave you alone.” He couldn’t be far; he was on crutches.

“No, don’t worry about it; I’ll handle it,” Bruce spoke up. He didn’t want Tony thinking he _had_ to do things on his behalf. He looked down at the ground in front of his feet. “Thanks for the apology. We should… probably get to our next classes...” he sighed tiredly. The lunch room had vacated, save for the two of them.

“Yeah,” Tony hummed distractedly. He was still upset, but he was also sick of arguing, and, as much as he hated to admit it, he might have been being a little insensitive to the trauma his friend had been through since last night. “I’ll catch you after class then.”

Bruce nodded. He reached out to give his friend’s hand a quick squeeze. Tony squeezed back weakly and nodded. “Later.”

\--

He kept a stiff upper lip the rest of the school day. Whenever he was approached on the subject, he stuck to Tony’s ‘fistfight’ story and made sure he didn’t elaborate; it seemed to serve him well enough. Of course, getting through the school day was really the least of his problems. Because once school let out, he’d be headed back home. Where his mom would be. And once she got a look at him...

“Sure you’re ready to go back?” Tony asked, biting his lip as they came to a stop in the school parking lot. “You can stay another day at my place. Or two, you know.” His friend’s emotional state hadn’t exactly been stellar all morning and afternoon; the last thing the big guy needed to do was incite more problems at home by not being in the right state of mind and make this shitstorm of a day into a shitmonsoon.

“Mom’ll worry,” Bruce answered tersely.

“You think she’s _not_ gonna worry with you sporting _that?_ What are you gonna tell her?” Tony interrogated.

Bruce had been thinking about that. He sighed. “I’ve got something,” he assured his friend.

Tony’s stance shifted, folding his arms across his chest. “So you’re going to lie?”

“You’re suggesting I tell her the truth?” The big guy sighed again, torn. “Maybe you’re right, maybe I should stay longer… I don’t know. Fuck,” he swore. He reached into his jacket pocket to remove his pack of dwindling cigarettes; he was going to have one before making his way back at very least.

Tony had his lighter up and lit for him the very next instant-- funny how he was still habitually carrying it around since he was trying to cut back. “There’s always a place for you at my place.” Admittedly, it wasn’t the easiest thing for him to offer right now, seeing as he was still irritated at the big guy from earlier, but it didn’t make it any less the truth.

“Knowing that means a lot to me,” Bruce conveyed. He leaned in to light the end of his cigarette in the flame. “Thanks,” he added.

Tony glanced away and then back again, “Mind if I? Just a puff.”

“Mm,” Bruce nodded, giving it over.

“It’s funny…” Tony hesitated with the vice an inch from his mouth, “Pep really came at me with a vengeance the other day when she caught me smoking.” The subject had just kind of come to mind and Tony could imagine his friend might benefit from a change in topic anyway. He took the single drag he’d promised, holding the smoke in his lungs as he handed it back.

“From what I’ve observed, she can be heavy-handed at times,” Bruce acknowledged.

He held it for a bit too long; Tony coughed out his inhalation. “Well yeah, that’s Pep.” He coughed again and thudded his chest with his fist. “I mean, she’s right. It’s bad for me. Bad for anyone. Especially me. But still.” He slid his hands into his pockets. “Also told her about you and I. Being… you know, monogamous,” he shrugged it out as carelessly as he could manage. “Just so you know that I did.”

“Oh,” Bruce vocalized, but didn’t offer much more, watching the smoke plume up from his vice woodenly-- at least one of them was managing to stick to their New Years Resolution. He tapped the ash from the end of his cigarette, “Well, that’s good, I suppose.”

“I think so,” Tony offered. Really, he deserved a pat on the back, but he obviously wasn’t going to get that from Bruce. He snorted. “Wasn’t exactly the easiest thing,” he went on. “She apparently really, really had the hots for me again. Like, I’m pretty sure she would’ve started dating me again right there on the spot. Y’know, if I’d been available. Which I’m not.” He was running his mouth off again, he realized with some dismay. He tapped his foot, debating asking for another drag.

The big guy bit the edge of his lip nervously. It felt like Tony was bringing this up for a reason, whether consciously or subconsciously. What could he say? “I know you want to date. I do too, but there’s some stuff I… have to work on first,” he said, trying to be honest without being _too_ honest. “I talked to my mom a little. But shit at home has been difficult, and school is keeping me busy… I hate to make you wait but...”

The billionaire's son felt his heart pitter-patter. He cleared his throat, “Nice to know, but seriously, don’t stress yourself out over it.” He scratched the back of his neck absently, twisting to break eye contact, “I might not look it, but I can be patient if something’s worth waiting for. And I know you don’t think it, but...” he reached out to grasp the other boy’s hand, “ _You’re_ worth waiting for, big guy.”

There it was. Just like Betty said.

Bruce blinked moisture out of his eyes, reaching up to wipe at them gingerly with his thumb-- especially the blackened one. Tony looked to his left and right quickly before leaning in and connecting their mouths in a chaste, but lingering kiss. “So, coming back with me?” he asked in a hush.

“Tony… I’d like to, but...” Bruce began.

The billionaire’s son nodded, not really liking it, but it wasn’t like he could change the big guy’s mind. “It’s cool. Go. But _don’t_ go making things worse for yourself,” Tony ordered, pointing a finger at him.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Bruce didn’t promise.

Tony gnawed his lip hesitantly. He’d gotten his schedule for the rest of the week from work yesterday, but there hadn’t exactly been a good opportunity to bring it up. He also wasn’t sure how exactly he was going to let Bruce know without telling him directly about the new job. For the most part it shouldn’t be too big of an issue-- he’d get off work about the same time Bruce was letting out of JC, so there’d be plenty of time to get together still during the week when they normally would. “Hey listen, I might be busy a few nights this week,” he led in.

Bruce looked at the other boy strangely, pushing his glasses up. “Oh. Okay. That’s fine.”

“Taking up a private project. I’ll keep you updated on when I’m free.” He’d mostly be working weekends and covering for Thor on game nights, but it was a noticeable enough change in availability that he had to come up with at least a half-decent excuse to fall back on when need be.

The big guy looked interested. His friend’s tinkering always fascinated him. “You’ll have to show me it when you’re done.”

Tony gave the big guy a genuine smile. Bruce was the reason he was saving up his money in the first place. Of course he’d be the first to see the fruits of Tony’s labor. “I definitely will.”

“Later then,” Bruce said, putting his helmet on.

“Yeah. Take care of yourself, big guy.”


	52. Chapter 52

As he’d kind of expected, neither of his parents had made it back from work yet by the time he got home. Good. That at least gave him a little time to try and think things over more. Bruce tossed his backpack full of books to the floor near his desk and flopped himself onto his back in his bed. He reached over to his desk, grabbing his iPod. He unwound the earbuds from around the device and put them each in an ear, selecting Within Temptation’s The Unforgiving album. The music began and he frowned, glancing down at the volume indicator on the screen. It was right where he’d left it, but it definitely sounded louder in his right ear. He popped the buds out and swapped which ear they were in to see if one was just on the fritz, but the result was the same.

Bruce grimaced. Seemed like the hit to his left ear might’ve caused some partial hearing loss. Kind of confirmed what he’d been experiencing since that morning. Nothing he could do about it at the moment though. He endeavored to put it out of his mind by concentrating on his current predicament.

He had just two options. He could either lie to his mom, or tell her the truth.

What were the repercussions of each? he asked himself. Well, of course he couldn’t be 100% sure, but he could make an educated guess. Lying would protect his mom from the knowledge that her husband had struck him, and everything would proceed as it had been the past few weeks in the Banner household. Telling his mom the truth would potentially devastate her, leave her broken and distrustful of her husband once more, ruining all the recent progress their relationship had had.

Bruce raked his fingers through his hair. He hated the idea of letting his old man get away with it, but the knowledge of how hurt his mom would be didn’t sit well with him either. Okay, what about the philosophical side of things? Hadn’t he wanted some way to prove to his mother that his father was nothing but a cruel man? For her to see him for what he really was? Show her she loved a monster?

But hadn’t he also vowed to himself to be an adult, step out of the picture and let his parents get along? His dad hadn’t hit _her_ \-- he’d hit him. That meant this was between he and his dad. Not his dad and mom. He’d lie. He’d fight his father outside of the realm of his mother’s knowledge, where it couldn’t hurt her.

That decided, he felt a great deal of weight lift off of him. It was morally substantiated, the logical follow-through trumping the emotional reaction. Whether he and his dad could ever mend their broken relationship was irrelevant; what _was_ relevant was whether his mother and father could mend _their_ relationship and maybe be in love again.

Even after all that had happened and been said in that garage, he really would like to believe his old man had told the truth when he said that somewhere deep down there, he loved his wife.

Bruce put away his iPod and took a seat at his desk to start in on his homework while he waited for them to get back from work.

\--

“Bruce, darling, we’re home!” Rebecca called down the hall as she and her husband entered through the garage. Brian parted from her with a quick kiss. She unwound the scarf from around her neck and went to go hang it and her coat on the rack, spending a moment in front of the mirror to fluff out her hair. She then went to knock on her son’s closed door. “Sweetheart, would you mind helping me out in the kitchen tonight?”

“Okay, Mom. Be there in a minute,” Bruce responded through the door, sounding distracted; he was probably concentrating on his studies. He was a hard worker. Such an angel. Pride swelled in her chest.

“Take all the time you need,” Rebecca responded. She walked back down the hall and into the kitchen, humming as she selected a cookbook off the shelf and opened it to the recipe for beef wellington. She set to work, pouring oil in a pan and searing the filets on all sides.

Bruce closed his textbook and made the short trek from his bedroom to the kitchen. His mom was hunched over to reach into the fridge. “Here now; how can I help?” he asked.

“I need some egg yolks for spreading,” she explained as she shut the refrigerator door. “Would you--” Rebecca drew in a sharp gasp when she saw the bruise on her son’s face, dropping the eggs she’d been holding to the floor. “Sweetheart!!” she rushed forward to cup her hands to his cheeks. “Bruce… oh my God… baby, baby…” her fingers brushed through his hair.

The boy swallowed roughly, a bit stunned by the extent of her emotional reaction. “Mom, it’s alright. I’m okay...” he began to reassure her.

Her foot stomped down. “BRIAN!!” she shrieked over his shoulder. “Come here _this_ instant!”

Bruce flinched. “Mom, you don’t understand…”

She wasn’t listening. The older man appeared in the doorway. Rebecca thrust her finger back at her son. “What is the meaning of this??”

The man looked as petrified as Bruce felt. Their gazes met for a split instant before the woman shoved her husband hard on the chest. “You _hit_ our son, didn’t you?!”

The man’s jaw opened and shut, a hard stammer issuing from it. “Rebecca, I realize what you may be thinking--”

She wasn’t hearing any of it; she lashed out at him again, causing him to stumble back. “You hit our son, Brian!! When did you hit him?!” Bruce’s feet carried him backward, backing up until he hit the counter behind him. He’d never been afraid of his mom, but he’d also never seen her in a rage quite like this. His hands trembled. He didn’t know what to do. How was he supposed to lie to her about how the bruise had happened when she had already jumped to the correct conclusion on the spot?

“Pl-please c-calm down…” the man implored his wife.

“What did I say??” she screamed, pummelling him with her closed hands. “If you ever, _ever_ laid a hand against our son again?! Tell me what I said to you!!”

“R-Rebecca, allow me to just try and explain--” the man stammered, making only the minutest effort to shield himself from her blows.

The situation was out of control. If he didn’t do _something_ , who knew how much worse it could end up being. “M-mom…” Bruce attempted to interject weakly.

The wife had tears in her eyes, struggling with something… the lobster-claw clasp at the back of her neck, before she grabbed the pendant and simply yanked, breaking the chain that had held it around her neck. She threw it at her husband; Brian flinched, tried to catch it and fumbled it to the floor, quickly bending to pick it back up. “You think these little gifts and trips and kind words can buy me??” the woman raged, “You think it will make me forget all you’ve done to our baby in the past--”

“Mom!!” he finally yelled loud enough for her to hear him. Rebecca’s head turned. Bruce felt himself shaking in the forced silence of the moment as literally the whole room seemed to freeze in time. “Mom… it happened during Jiu Jitsu this afternoon,” he said quietly. “Dad didn’t…” he looked at his father, who only stared incredulously at him, and fell mute.

She deflated instantly, blinking several times like the words she was hearing didn’t make any sense. “Jiu… Jiu Jitsu…?” she asked, stepping forward to sweep her hand through his curls again.

“Y-yeah,” he nodded, eyes downward, “One of the new students… during sparring… he just didn’t know his own strength. It… it was an accident,” he finished the lie, now trusting himself to look back up at her.

Rebecca swayed almost dizzily at the information. “Oh…” she placed her hand on her chest, eyebrows drawing together as she now turned back towards her husband. “Brian… I… I’m so sorry, I… I didn’t realize…” she began.

The man put his hand up to halt her there. “No. It’s alright, Rebecca. I don’t fault you for making the conclusion you did.” He turned the diamond pendant over in his fingers. “After all, I have made some terrible mistakes in the past…”

Her fingers descended down on his. “Hush. These words are needless. I was too quick to judge, I… I shouldn’t’ve...” she brushed her hair out of her face, looking down. Tears streamed down her face in the aftermath of her emotion, hating herself for coming to the conclusion she had so quickly. Brian had promised to never do it again. He’d _promised_. What had given her cause to believe he’d break that promise? She noticed the damaged silver chain held in her husband’s hand, “Oh no, I broke it, didn’t I?”

“I-it’s fine,” the older man stammered. “I’ll take it in to the repair shop in the morning. It’s nothing to worry over.” He scooped his fingers through her hair with an almost fearful reverence of what he’d nearly lost.

Rebecca leaned in and caught his cheek with her lips, stepping back with a look like she was out of breath and woozy. She placed the back of her hand to her forehead. “I think I might need a moment; I’m… I’m going to go draw a bath...” she fanned at her face. “Bruce, you can help me with dinner a little later, okay, sweetie?”

“Okay, Mom,” he answered with a nod.

Brian nodded stiffly as well, turning his body away from her. Bruce only realized why once she moved away, leaving the front room.

His dad was crying.

Bruce gaped at the sight. The old man’s shoulders were heaving pathetically, stiff sobs choked back so much that Bruce could just barely make it out. Brian’s fingers were fisted at both his sides-- anger. But not anger at his wife. Not anger at his son.

Anger at… himself.

The boy tried to process this, but drew up blank. Extremely uncomfortable, he began to make a hasty exit.

“Bruce,” his father got out.

The son stopped, swallowing. He slowly turned around. The man was wordless a moment longer, a ‘Why?’ on his lips unsaid. “I’m going up to my study to drink,” Brian finally said, voice hollow. “When your mother returns, please give her my apology; I likely will not be able to join you and her for dinner.”

Bruce was disarmed by the honest statement of his father’s intentions. “Y-yes, sir. I will,” he responded confusedly. Brian nodded with his jaw clenched, he brought his hand down on his son’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

That brief physical contact was even more foreign. Bruce stood stock-still as his father turned and left him standing all alone in the kitchen, trying to make sense of what had just transpired.

\--

Howard’s phone rang and vibrated on the nightstand, dragging him out of a restful sleep. He groaned and swung for it two times before realizing that it was out of his reach, and also not an alarm clock. After coming to the conclusion that he’d have to answer it in order to stop the noise, he reluctantly crawled out of bed and snatched the phone up, bringing it to his ear, “Someone had better be dying.”

“Howard.” His name was spoken first. “Apologies for the early hour.”

The voice was gravelled to near indistinction, but he thought he recognized it anyhow. “...Brian?” Howard rubbed his eyes with his free hand as he spoke, smacking his lips languidly as he finished. _‘Ugh, morning mouth.’_

“Mm, yes,” the man made a small noise of confirmation. “I was hoping you’d do me the favor of a… personal visit.”

The inventor’s eyebrows shot up. “Is something wrong?”

There was a long pause, long enough for Howard to wonder if he’d been heard or the connection had cut. “That is what I wished to discuss. Are you free this morning?”

Howard’s eyebrows drew together. It was obvious he wasn’t getting any more out of this man over the phone. He let out a sigh of resignation, “Lemme get a pot of coffee going and wash up first.”

“I’ll be in my office. Section 2-C, 140.”

“Mm,” Howard hummed groggily before hanging up. This was the absolute last thing he wanted to wake up to, but he supposed it couldn’t be helped. Probably one of the boys had gotten sloppy covering their tracks, and now he was wanted for harboring a fugitive, or something. Howard rolled his eyes before drawling out, “Boys’ll be boys…” and shuffling towards the bathroom.

\--

“Section 2-C… one-forty…” Howard clicked his tongue as he repeated the directions. The route to Rebecca’s office he had memorized, but that of her husband… well, he’d never imagined himself making a ‘personal visit’ to that stuffy old badger’s lair. Considering the professional setting, he’d come to the regrettable conclusion that the suit and tie were necessary, as was combing his hair back and shaving. He tried desperately not to show a bias before speaking to the man, but it was definitely going to be an uphill battle. Upon finally finding the correct door, he took a moment to square his jaw and his shoulders before knocking lightly. “Mr. Banner?” he called quietly, having no taste for the formality, but keen to use it out of respect for the environment.

“Come in,” he heard from the other side. Howard nodded, opening the door and taking two steps inside. “Close the door after you,” Brian muttered, turning his face from the harshness of the light flooding in; he sounded even more haggard in person. The fluorescents weren’t on and the blinds were slatted shut behind him, only a dim ambient light illuminating the office room. There was also a definite rankness pervading the air-- J&B Blended Scotch Whisky, Howard recognized. It used to be one of his go-to brands before he made his first million and stopped settling for twenty dollar liquor.

Brian shifted sluggishly in his chair from one armrest to the other. “Sit down,” he further directed. “I’d offer you a drink but…” he hummed, striking a pen against the empty decanter and listening to the reverberation of the glass as if it were the most interesting sound in the world, “unfortunately I ran out at four AM.” A chuckle was supposed to accompany the joke’s delivery, but the physicist just ended up covering half his face with a hand, leaning into the palm as he winced at the throbbing pain in his head.

Howard sat, struck by what was before him. The other man was wasted. And while that aspect of Mr. Banner’s character might not have been all that unprecedented, what was a definite step out of character was that he was _at work_ that way. If he were to be discovered, he could be terminated on the spot. And while he seemed lucid, he was definitely inhibited. “Brian, what happened?” he demanded to know.

The man’s eyes met his. “Do you love your son, Howard?”

“Of course I do.” Howard’s upper lip twitched. That didn’t answer the question of what had happened. “Does this has something to do with our boys?” he ventured.

Brian seemed to ignore the question, a twitch in his damp eyes. “How do you show him it?”

“I...” Well. That was a hard question. Howard wanted badly to ignore it, but he knew he wouldn’t get far by being dishonest, especially this early in. “It’s… I’m working on it. I’ve been trying to be more involved, more honest with him about things. We get along a lot better than we used to… We hardly used to talk before, so that’s something I believe.” He shrugged, losing his way for a moment, “It’s a… work in progress.”

The man behind the desk nodded his chin slightly. It confirmed why, out of anyone, he’d chosen Howard to speak to. Man to man. Father to father. Failure to failure. Unsteadily he put his elbows on his desk to steeple his fingers together, staring straight ahead. “It has never been my aim to get my son to like me, Howard. That is not the duty of a parent. A parent’s duty is to _provide_ ,” he struck his palm down on the desk in front of him, and striking it thereafter with each emphasized word, “to _ensure_ they are well-equipped to handle life once our care has _ended_.” His composition wavered, dragging his eyes up to meet the other man’s almost imploringly, “You would not disagree, would you?”

Howard sighed. Mr. Banner sure knew how to beat around the bush. “I wouldn’t. But like anything of any great importance in life, it’s not that simple. The lessons we provide our children with aren’t limited to common sense and matters of morality. Our relationships with our children set the trend for how they interact with people. A parent’s duty is to provide emotionally as well.” He clicked his tongue. “I take it you’re having trouble with Bruce?”

Brian’s face soured further, giving a snort and turning gracelessly in his chair; he didn’t answer for a long moment. “Two nights ago I saw a side of Bruce I’d never seen before,” he mumbled, grabbing his empty glass once more to turn over in his fingers. “I admit that I struck him,” he relayed emotionlessly, but that facade was quickly crumbling. “His behavior was out of control… he was irrationally angry...” Brian gestured his hands, grasping at straws. “He refused to listen. No matter what I said,” his thoughts returned to Rebecca’s words, “or how I said it.” He bowed into his hands.

Howard stiffened visibly. Well, he'd assumed as much of Brian's parenting methods, but the man before him looked torn, like he couldn't reconcile with the fact that he'd resorted to said violence. And if he were to address the issue head-on, Brian was likely to close up and prevent any chance he had of breaking through. Howard took a slow breath before deciding to go a different route, “Children don’t always listen. In fact, I’d go so far as to say they often don’t. It’s something we have to learn to accept as parents.” Certainly didn’t constitute physical violence. Then again, that probably wasn’t what had driven Brian to commit said act. Howard paused a moment. “You say your son was behaving differently than he usually does?”

The man drew in a long, slow breath through his nostrils. “Bruce has always been very obedient and respectful of my authority. He was not only defiant that night, but impudent.” Brian’s eyes steeled, focused beyond the man sitting on the other side of his desk. “I wager he has been that way for some time now, but it had yet to manifest itself in my presence until the night I speak of. Compliments of your boy, I can only presume, and yet I cannot find myself angry about that any longer. Anthony was a catalyst-- nothing more. I realize this now.” He stared at his decanter longingly. “It would be easier to blame him, but then, I think I would not be being honest with myself...”

The billionaire’s eyebrow tweaked at this admittance. "Well, it’s true that Tony's only really encouraged your boy to be himself. Did Bruce say anything specific to you?” Howard ventured. “Normally we tend to be a lot more telling when we're angry. We let things slip that we normally wouldn't."

The desk chair squeaked as Brian leaned back in it heavily. “He spoke out of turn, from the perspective of a hurt child that doesn’t understand,” the man responded, shaking his head. “Even so... I am forced to admit that some of his words were not without their merit. I have not been good to Bruce… emotionally. Nor, at times, his mother. He… he pointed this out to me.” Mr. Banner’s voice had a shake to it.

Howard felt his mouth go dry, an ugly bitter taste crawling up his throat to linger on his tongue as his hands fisted out of sight. Was Brian admitting to striking his wife as well? Or was he reading too deeply into what was being said to him? Howard forced himself to stop contemplating what would happen if he were to clock Mr. Banner and straightened in his seat. “If you believe what you say about what a parent’s duty is, then you have succeeded; Bruce is plenty capable to tackle the challenges ahead of him in life. Rebecca however--” he stopped himself. No. It wasn’t his place. Even if the man sitting across from him _had_ engaged in that kind of abuse, it wouldn’t make it any more his place. Howard cleared his throat. “I mean to say, what does Rebecca think of what Bruce said?”

“ _My wife_ ,” the man spoke warningly, a glare in his eyes like a snake lifting to strike, “does not know the conversation took place. Nor that I took part in the subsequent altercation.”

Howard smacked his lips, breaking eye contact. That was a nasty slip on his part, and it was silly of him to think attempting to cover for it would have helped at all. “What does she think happened?”

“Bruce told her it occurred at Jiu Jitsu…” Brian mumbled back.

Howard scoffed, “And you didn’t speak up to correct him.”

“Clearly,” Brian grumbled tersely. He reached up to rub his forehead to try to relieve the pain behind his eyes; he knew the father across from him wasn’t likely to believe this, “I did not pressure him to cover up for me. I cannot say what Bruce’s motives were in telling her as much. I only know that he chose to.” He recalled his son’s final words: _‘I’m in charge of myself now.’_ “After our dialogue two nights ago...” he exhaled slowly, “I didn’t feel it would be right to intervene.”

Howard proceeded carefully, “Brian, you do understand that hitting your son is a serious offense?”

“I am aware,” the man said with more resolve than he felt. “Excluding recent events, it’s been quite some time since I had to lay my hand to him…” he traced the lip of the glass with a finger. “I’ve simply never seen the benefit to being light-handed with him. A boy does not learn by being _coddled_ ,” he spat. Brian took a deep, shaky breath and let it out, allowing his head to rest in his hands. “But now I find myself questioning if I damaged him in his younger years by being too harsh. I love Bruce. But the method whereby I chose to express that sentiment is not one understood by a young child.” He gestured openly in front of himself. “A child is not thankful for the roof over his head, the clothes on his back nor the food on the table, unless those things are in short supply. A child is not appreciative of rules. It was not my intention to strike the boy two days ago. I made a _promise_ ,” his gravelled voice hiccupped, “A promise to my wife.” He almost caved to the sobs threatening to break to the surface. “But Bruce lashed out, even demanded to be struck. Would that I had the willpower to restrain myself in that moment...” he lamented.

Howard had been listening carefully. He gnawed his bottom lip briefly, “You made a mistake. We all do from time to time. I can’t speak for the rest of your family, but you need to sober up and go set things right. Getting drunk in your office isn’t going to solve anything.” Even saying that, Howard knew there was no way that this man should be driving home by himself. Between Mr. Banner’s blood-alcohol level, and the obvious sleep deprivation, it was a twenty car pile-up waiting to happen.

“Can I?” Brian asked bitterly, turning his head away. “How can I ever make things right with what I’ve done? To them both.”

Resignation was not something Howard would’ve expected to see out of the other father. “I ask myself the same question every day,” he said stiffly, “We can only try our best.”

Brian seemed to be considering it a moment, only to shake his head hopelessly. “I cannot tell Rebecca. She… I _know_ she would not have me anymore…” the man’s eyes welled with tears.

Howard nodded his understanding, “Well then it’s just something you and your son are going to have to work through.” He risked putting a hand on the man’s shoulder. Brian lifted an eyebrow at him, but Howard continued, “Listen to him. That doesn’t mean submit. Kids at this age are like cyclones. You have to go with the flow sometimes, and it looks like you’ve mostly been shouting into the wind as of late.”

It took Brian a long while to respond. “I will take your advice under consideration. Th-thank you, Howard.”

The innovator nodded his acknowledgement. He cleared his throat, “Right then. Are you supposed to be working right now?”

“On several things,” the man muttered.

“That’s a shame, because I’m driving you back home,” Howard said matter-of-factly. “I’ll make a few calls so nobody asks any questions, but you need to get out of here and get some sleep. If you stay here, trust me, you’ll lose your job.”

The man only hummed a negative, shaking his head. “I cannot allow that.”

“And just _why_ is that?” Howard fought the urge to bring his hands to his hips.

“I left Rebecca a note saying I had to go in early. I didn’t want her to find out I’d been drinking all night.” Brian glanced at his watch, his eyes having difficulty focusing on the face of it. “She won’t be coming in for the next hour.”

Well, in this state, Rebecca was very likely to know he’d been drinking all night. Howard sucked some air in through his teeth, “Right. You can sleep off the booze at my place. The boys are at school, so you can sleep in one of the guest beds. We can talk it out more when you’ve sobered up.”

“That is… permissible,” Brian mumbled. Unsteadily he hefted himself from his seat, swaying on his two feet. He followed Howard to his office door.

His hand rested on the doorknob, “And if anyone asks, I contracted you for work on a Stark Industries project. Classified information. It’s too early to make stuff up. I haven’t even had breakfast yet.”

\--

Howard pulled the key out of the lock and slipped it back into his pocket, fingers immediately going to work on his collar by loosening that blasted tie. He stepped aside to allow Brian Banner the room to shuffle in behind him, "Okay, you know the drill. Shoes against the wall, coats on the rack. Otherwise, make yourself at home." Howard palmed the wall with one hand for balance as he wrestled off one fancy dress shoe at a time in order to lead by example. No way he was lounging about at home in some stuffy suit if he could help it.

Brian did as asked, recognizing this time, more than the last, that he was a guest in the other man’s home and there was no precedence for dispute. He was still fighting vertigo, wavering where he stood. “I’ll ask where your washroom is,” he mumbled out.

"There's one attached to each bedroom, but the closest one is two doors down the hall from the kitchen. Down that way," Howard explained, gesturing. "You need a towel?"

“Just need to relieve myself,” Brian declined.

"Ah. Got’cha." Howard nodded as the man left, slipping off his suit coat and placing it on one if the free hooks on the coat rack. He took a quick detour into the kitchen to pour two glasses of orange juice before returning to the living room and setting them down on the coffee table. Then he sat himself down in his favorite chair and listened for the telltale flush followed by the sound of a running faucet.

His houseguest returned several minutes after he’d first took his leave, ambling across the antechamber in his black socks. He hadn’t gone to the bother of tucking his shirt back into his slacks, making this the most relaxed he’d ever seen the other father. Mr. Banner stepped down into the carpeted living room and carefully circumvented the sofa to take a seat in it. "Have a drink," Howard offered, gesturing toward the glass he'd set on the coffee table. “It's just orange juice. I'm usually never up in time for breakfast on a day off, so I figured I'd commemorate the occasion."

The man hummed stiffly and leaned forward to take his glass, pressing it to his lips and taking a sip before rolling the cool surface of the glass against his temple. It was only slight relief, but it was welcome. He responded with his eyes closed. “I apologize again for the inconvenience I’ve been to you this morning.”

Howard scoffed, “Please. If being a hung-over pain in the ass was a crime, I’d be serving consecutive life sentences.” Steve Sr. could attest to that.

Brian actually gave an amused half-snort at that.

Howard shared the laugh briefly before lifting the glass once more, tipping it slightly in Brian’s direction, “Go on, drink up. Plenty of vitamin C. I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to help. I should look that up…” The statement ended in a low mutter as the elder Stark pawed around for his smartphone.

Brian grunted and emptied the glass, holding the last of the citrusy liquid in his mouth a moment before swallowing. After setting it back down where it had come from, he leaned back in the couch and shut his eyes once more. A decently lengthed silence hung between them. “Magnanimous Mr. Stark…” he mumbled.

Howard almost didn’t catch it, but when he did, he shook his head slowly. “I find there are enough merciless, ball-busting corporate sharks in my tax bracket. And, again, like I said, it’s my day off.” It was strange for him still. Aside from Steve, Howard really didn’t have much recent experience associating with men near his age, fathers or otherwise. He wondered if the other man thought he was offering charity, considering how distant the conversation still felt. He cleared his throat nervously, “I hope you don’t think I’m trying to show off.”

The response was hazy from the man’s lips, “Nothing of the sort.” He looked across at Mr. Stark. “But you must be aware I would not have done the same for you. That doesn’t trouble you?”

“You don’t know that,” Howard countered, “I would have said the same thing until this morning. We’re not exactly pals,” he delivered the words as if it were the understatement of the year. It probably was. “But I think I’m starting to understand you better.”

The notion seemed to amuse Brian. “I would not see us as such.”

Howard leaned forward and steepled his fingers as if he were proposing a business deal, “To put it plainly, there are some things in both our lives that need fixing. Both of us offer a measure of perspective lacking in the other. Secondly, might I mention that if our boys are going to continue to associate, it would be in our best interests to at least attempt to form some sort of working relationship? I think you’ll agree with me that it would be unfair to leave your wife to act as a permanent liaison, wouldn’t you?”

The man on the couch grunted, clearly not liking it, but seeing the logic therein. “I’ve heard no complaint from her; I think she fancies your company more than I.” It was difficult to determine how that joke was intended.

Howard dismissed the statement with a wave, “I’m sure she’d be happy to see us establish some sort of mutual understanding at least.” He paused to take another sip of the drink in his hand, “Hatred takes a lot out of two old men. I can’t be assed most days.”

The billionaire spoke truthfully; Brian nodded. If it would aid him in getting back into Rebecca’s good graces, he would attempt to set aside these differences.

“Besides, I don’t buy for a second that you couldn’t stop our boys from seeing each other if you wanted to. I think you’re softer than you let on.”

Brian stared him down. “I’ve said before. I act on the best interests of my son.”

“I’m gonna take that as a compliment on Tony’s behalf,” Howard teased smugly, “Though I will say, my boy has made some serious improvements since he started hanging out with yours.”

Mr. Banner hummed. “Bruce has been getting into far fewer fights at school,” he gave an example the other man most likely knew about. “It had been a persistent problem since fifth grade. One that greatly troubled his mother and I. We hoped, perhaps, he would grow out of it, that it was a phase. I know now that it is not…” he paused for a decisive moment, “but I think Anthony calms him.”

“Mm…” Howard nodded, “Tony used to hole up in his room or the den after school. From what I understood he was popular at school, but he never much had friends over. But then Bruce came along and… well, you know quite well.”

“I do,” Brian issued. “Inseperable.”

Howard nodded, “Maybe they’re on to something.” He blanched almost immediately at his wording and moved to correct himself, though it was likely needless as far as the other father was concerned, “I mean, maybe there’s something to learn from their example.” He took a swig from the glass to mask his grimace.

Brian eyed his drained glass on the coffee table, wary of the dryness in his throat. “Would it be too much to request another glass?”

Howard stood with a little protest from the muscles in his back that had grown used to their state of rest. “Yeah, I’ll pour you another. But you should probably eat something while you’re at it. I’m not much of a cook, but we have frozen waffles, instant mac and cheese, and the biggest collection of takeout menus you’ll ever find outside of a hoarder house. It’s been a while since I’ve had Chinese delivered, come to think of it...”

“I’ll take my chances with the orange juice,” Brian muttered on the side of dubious.

“Have it your way,” Howard shrugged, snatching up the glass and disappearing into the kitchen, “But I’m asking again in two hours. And by asking, I mean I’m telling you and phrasing it as a question for the sake of being polite.” He opened the fridge and grabbed for the carton.

The man gave a disbelieving snort. Never had he gotten such stubborn nagging from someone regarding his recovery after a long night of drinking. Brian waited in the living room as the other father got his drink, his mind wandering somewhat. “Was your wife a good cook?” he queried, raising his voice enough to be heard across the distance.

“I…” Howard started, momentarily thrown off guard by the question. It wasn’t a common occurrence for him to be asked about her directly. “She… yeah. Well, I thought she was. It wasn’t five star restaurant good or anything, but I liked it. Especially--” Howard paused to chuckle softly at the memory, returning with a full glass and setting it down in front of his guest. He found his seat and continued, gesturing emphatically with hands, “She’d always be trying out new recipes, and she used to rope me into being her guinea pig. It’s funny how I miss that. She always seemed so nervous about whether I would like it, and not once did she ever miss the mark. It was boggling, and just, I don’t know if I can explain.”

“Rebecca has always been an excellent cook,” Brian boasted with a nod. Wholesome, flavorful and never repetitive. He brushed his hand along the couch’s armrest, accidentally slipping into memory, “Back when we were dating, she and I occasionally cooked together.” A half-smile cracked his jaw; he brought the drink quickly to his mouth.

Howard grunted, more to acknowledge that he was listening than as any sort of commentary. Brian was a heavily guarded man. This moment felt rare, and Howard didn’t feel comfortable interrupting.

“Of course, once we took a home together, that duty fell to her,” the man concluded.

Howard raised an eyebrow, “It sounds like you enjoyed it, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Cooking with her,” Howard clarified, straightening up in his seat, “You lit up like a tesla coil just mentioning it.”

Brian was somewhat taken aback, even shocked to have been called out on it. “I… I suppose I did. We had a very different relationship back then,” he sought to explain.

“Have you ever considered picking the habit back up? You know, practicality aside,” Howard shrugged it off.

The look on the other man’s face at first seemed to suggest that such a thing was entirely out of the question, but gradually it softened. “I… had not,” Brian admitted, slowly considering the proposition. “After all these years you don’t think it would be…” his nose wrinkled in search of a proper adjective, “peculiar?”

“Not really. Grown-ups _can_ do things for fun every once in a while. Even with domestic chores. Hell, dinner dates got Maria and I _through_ Tony’s terrible twos.”

“That’s not where my concern lies; such an act would seem entirely… unpremeditated. It would surely raise questions,” Brian said.

Howard raised his eyebrows sarcastically, “Spontaneity? As in, ‘that thing that keeps relationships hot and exciting’?” He finished his statement with the smile of a man that had beat his opponent in chess in two moves.

Brian’s eyes narrowed, deepening all the lines around his eyes and on his forehead. “If you are seeking to make a presumption about hers and my sex life, I can assure you we are both quite content.” He broke eye-contact and took a glug of his OJ, “I ensure my wife is well satisfied.”

Howard flashed the man a lewd smirk. They were men after all. “Not what I was referring to. I was simply saying that if you both enjoyed something in the past, then there stands no reason why you wouldn’t, or _shouldn’t_ enjoy it now. A marriage isn’t like a furnace. You don’t just ‘maintain’ the fire that’s already inside it, and you don’t just leave logs in the shed ‘for a rainy day’.”

The other man hummed at the analogy, holding up his glass at eye level and twisting it as if studying it while he thought. “You’re saying ‘if there is wood to burn, burn it’.”

“Precisely,” Howard smiled, excited his peer seemed to be catching on. He sat back and crossed one leg over the other. “You’d be surprised how well a woman responds to a suggestion or a gift out of the blue. It tells her you were thinking about her. A box of chocolates, flowers, a ‘Honey, I thought tonight maybe we’d cook dinner _together_...’.” The inventor chuckled, eyes closing briefly. “I used to kiss Maria whenever I had the chance. She pretended to hate it, because I’d never wait if she was in the middle of housework or taking care of Tony. I told her I was trying to kiss her every time I _thought_ about kissing her, and that if I didn’t have such self-restraint I’d be walking out on the job every time the idea crossed my mind, and then we’d be poor again.”

Mr. Banner hummed. He pat the armrest beneath his hand, resisting the urge to shake his head. _‘You think these little gifts and trips and kind words can buy me??’_ The pendant was still in his breast pocket, a memento of how insignificant such things were. “Recently, as I believe you know, Rebecca and I took a vacation.”

“Yes,” the billionaire responded, as if to say ‘Go on.’.

“It was a… spontaneous decision, as you put it. It had been years since we travelled. I bought her things. We took pictures. Even…” he wet his lips, threatening to close off again, “held hands. It felt as though the both of us were young again. But…”

Howard leaned in, “But what?”

“The time has passed,” he sighed out. “We are not young anymore. To live in the past, pretend as much would be folly. To think that we could cultivate so much as an approximation to what we once had--” he choked up, eventually forcing the words out, “would also be folly.” His head hung; he palmed at his eye sockets, “I’ve done too much wrong.”

Howard tried not to roll his eyes. Steve had given him the same whine and moan about proposing to Peggy.

_‘Oh, she’s such a great gal.’_

_‘But I’m no good for her. She deserves someone better.’_

_‘Oh! But I already bought the ring, and it would be a real shame if I didn’t at least ask, right, Howie?’_

_‘No, I just can’t! What if she says no?’_

_‘But darn, is she one great gal.’_

_‘But she wouldn’t wanna marry a guy like me. I’m just a plain old Joe.’_

The multi-billionaire snapped, reciting the decades-old response nearly verbatim through his clenched teeth, “You know what? You’re absolutely right. You probably _aren’t_ good enough. But do it the fuck anyway. It’s what you want, it’s what she wants, and she’ll have better luck convincing you than the both of us put together. But for God’s sake, man, do _something_ , because you’re not going to get anything from sitting around and whining but a sore ass.” Once he’d said it, he nearly doubled back and apologized, but he couldn’t get past the fact that he’d just compared the man across from him to his best friend, even if unintentionally.

Brian wet his lips. “I suppose you’re right,” he concluded, adding no further commentary.

Howard cleared his throat, pushing the thoughts aside, “Sorry... that was a little harsh.”

“The apology is not necessary; it is a quality I admire.” The two of them sat a moment in silence before Brian spoke up again, “You mentioned take-out?”

Howard coughed out a laugh, “Yeah. I’ll go grab a menu. Chinese still okay?”

“Lovely,” the physicist’s eyes gave a slight roll, a ghost of a smirk on his maw.


	53. Chapter 53

Rebecca bent to pull the roast from the oven. She set the potholders to the side and turned off the oven, peering out the front window again before glancing at her watch. “Still no sign of your father,” the wife worried to her son. Her fingers brushed the bare patch on her neck idly.

Bruce shifted uneasily as he got the corn on the cob out of the microwave, pulling the lid off the top carefully to not be burnt by the rising steam. Beyond the instructions his father had given him last night, he didn’t have anything to tell his mother in regards to his whereabouts. “...Should we wait for him?” he ventured uncertainly.

Her posture slumped just a tad. Rebecca turned from the window. “No, no, that’s alright. I’m sure he’ll be along soon. Let’s eat, darling.” She gave his hair a ruffle and retrieved a carving knife from the block on the counter.

The teen nodded and grabbed three plates out of the cupboard to set the table.

“Is it feeling any better today?” his mother asked once they’d sat down and each taken their helpings.

It took Bruce a moment to figure out what she was referring to. “Oh,” he realized, reaching up to touch the side of his face testingly; there was a definite tenderness to wherever he applied pressure, but it wasn’t as painful as it had been the day before. “Yeah, it is.” He pointedly didn’t bring up the difficulty he’d been having hearing since the day after the injury.

“It looks just dreadful,” his mother shook her head. “I hope the boy responsible apologized.”

Bruce cleared his throat. “I did sign a liability waiver, Mom.”

“Still,” she scoffed, “it’s just common courtesy.”

They both heard the garage door coming up. Bruce fell silent. A few moments later, Brian emerged, removing his jacket. “Ah. Evening, Bruce. Rebecca,” he nodded his head at the each of them as he hung his coat in the entry.

Rebecca set her utensils down. “Brian, where were you?”

“Bah, some things at work kept me late,” he feigned a grouse as he came to take his seat at the head of the table, unfurling his cloth napkin and draping it over his lap.

“But you weren’t in your office,” the woman said. Bruce felt his eyes flit over to his father.

Her husband blinked, put on the spot. “Yes, well. About that.” His jowls tightened. He quickly picked up the carving fork to select a piece of roast, swallowing his pride. “Mr. Stark saw fit to contract me for one of his projects.”

Rebecca’s mouth opened and closed once or twice, like she didn’t know what to say, or was too surprised to articulate it. “That’s… well, that’s so wonderful, darling!” she tittered. She leaned forward with obvious interest. “What is he having you doing?”

“I signed a confidentiality agreement,” Brian said; Bruce tried to ignore how it sounded almost verbatim to his own response to her. “I can say I’m in his cold atom physics division, though,” the man went on.

Bruce lifted an eyebrow at what he knew to be complete bullshit and said nothing, taking another large bite of corn. He wondered what the real story was on where his father had been. Maybe getting more alcohol.

“Of course, silly me,” Rebecca said. “Goodness, though. You must be so excited! Cold atom physics…” she wondered, slicing the meat on her plate, “Bosonic atoms or fermionic atoms?” She popped the bite into her mouth.

“Bosonic,” the man answered readily. “In particular, the Onnes-Effect…”

“Superfluids!” Bruce blurted through a full mouth, only to feel very suddenly embarrassed when both parents looked his way. He swallowed quickly and explained. “A state of matter cooled close to absolute zero that acts like fluid, but with zero viscosity.” The concept was beyond awesome… that the need for equilibrium inside a vacuum could overcome the law of gravity!

Rebecca looked utterly tickled by her son’s outburst. “Perhaps Mr. Stark should have taken you on as well; he could give an enterprising young man like you an internship.”

“Indeed,” Brian chuckled, returning to his meal.

The rest of dinner was consumed while his mother recounted her busy day at the laboratory while his father listened, enraptured. Bruce nipped the final kernels of corn off his ear and licked off his fingers. “Excuse me,” he bowed his head and stood, pushing in his chair.

“Bruce, I’d like to have a word with you,” his father stopped him.

The boy’s face hardened. He didn’t have to so much as give his old man the time of day if he didn’t want to. “I have a lot of homework,” he said.

“Bruce,” his mother spoke up, “I’m sure you can spare a minute or two for your father.”

He exhaled impatiently. “Study?” Bruce surmised, dropping his dishes into the sink.

“If there is some place else you would feel more comfortable, I am open to it,” Brian consented.

Bruce felt his eyebrow lift about half a mile. He shifted from one foot to the other, humming thoughtfully. He seized the opportunity at calling the shots. “Alright. My room.” The elder Banner nodded and Bruce proceeded down the hall to his bedroom. He pushed the door open and walked through it, showing no real regard to the man behind him. The teen took a seat at his desk and opened up his Calculus textbook.

Brian cleared his throat awkwardly as his son took up his pencil and spiral notebook and began number-crunching. “Bruce, I wanted to apologize for what happened two nights ago.”

The boy’s writing instrument didn’t so much as waver. “What are you talking about? It happened at Jiu Jitsu.”

The flippant reply clearly irritated his father. “Bruce.” The utterance of his name was stern. “ _Allow me_ to apologize.”

“I don’t want one,” Bruce dismissed tersely.

Brian’s lips turned up in a snarl, but he forced it back down. “Then I shall wait to give it,” he conceded. He frowned at the back of his son’s head, parsing out how to continue. “However, I want you to know that I consider what you did…” he swallowed very hard, clarifying, “what you told your mother… it was a very selfless thing to do.” He stared at the floor a moment. “You realize that you were under no obligation to do as much?”

The boy paused, albeit briefly. “Yeah,” he answered impassively. He went back to his textbook.

Brian nodded to himself before finding the fortitude to go on. “Bruce, I am very concerned about our relationship at this juncture. As father and son. I… spent a lot of time thinking about what you said to me. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve become very isolated from my son. From you.” He paused, but his boy said nothing in response. “Are you listening to me?” his eyes narrowed.

Bruce picked up his graphing calculator to plot a couple of polynomial functions. “Yes, sir.”

The man exhaled roughly, pacing momentarily in the lengthening silence. “I want to attempt to have a better relationship with you from here forward.”

The teen finally looked away from his homework, turning in his chair to regard his father. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t believe a single goddamn word that comes out of your mouth.”

Brian gawked at his son. “You think I’m lying?”

“I think you’re saying whatever you think you need to say to get me to ‘fall back in line’,” Bruce said matter-of-factly.

“That is preposterous--” the man began.

“If you’re done, I have homework to do,” Bruce delivered coldly.

The tendons in the older man’s neck contracted. “Then I shall leave you to it.” He stalked from his son’s bedroom, slamming the door on his way out.

\--

“How did it go?”

Brian rubbed circles into his temples. “The boy refused to speak a word with me.”

“Guess the wounds are still a little fresh, then,” Howard shrugged, “There’s not much that can really help with that--”

“You said he and I needed to work through it; I sought to initiate a dialogue on that subject.”

“Can you not interrupt me?” Howard scolded with a raised eyebrow, “I was going to say ‘There’s not much that can really help with that _except time_.’. Your problem is you’re aiming for a long term goal, but you’re thinking short term.” Howard tapped his finger lightly at his temple before pointing it at the man across from him, “Whether you see it or not, that little talk was a step in the right direction. But it’s only the first step.”

“So I’m to wait and try again?” vexation hung in the man’s voice.

“No,” Howard shook his head vigorously, “No more discussions. Talk is cheap. If he doesn’t believe you, then you’ve just got to prove him wrong.”

Brian sighed, slouching back in his seat. “And just how am I to do that, Howard?”

Howard scratched his head, pausing to think on it, “Well, when I finally decided to get back into Tony’s life and be a father again, I thought really hard on where I was failing and how I could fix it. Pay close attention to what hasn’t been working, what’s missing.” Howard wrung a hand through his hair as he tried hard to come up with some more specific advice, “He wants you to be less controlling? Fine. Let him spread his wings, and don’t stress over it. You’ve prepared him well enough.”

“I retracted the boy’s curfew, what more would you have me do?” the physicist asked, making it clear from his gestures that he didn’t think much of a no-rule policy.

“That’s a fair start. Anything more should be based on your own discretion. But if what he says is true, he’s expecting you to crack and try to cage him back in. Don’t. Eventually he’ll notice that you’re not going to stop him. Let your wife be the one to reel him back in when he’s gone too far. From what you’ve told me, he responds more favorably to her.”

Brian nodded. “Yes, alright. I will be sure to discuss it with her.”

“If you want to show him that you care on more than a superficial level, you’ll need to understand him better. Support his interests, even if you think they’re stupid or pointless. I know that might be a stretch, but…” Howard’s eyes widened, “Oh, and for the love of God, don’t get frustrated.” 

Brian groaned, placing a hand to his forehead in memory of his exit from his son’s bedroom. “I believe I’ve already screwed the proverbial pooch on that one.”

Howard chuckled, “We make mistakes, but in these situations, it’s important to remember that teenagers are bound to go through a rebellious phase. He’s only just starting now, so don’t be surprised if he’s soured to your authority for a while.”

“Such an age we live in,” Brian clicked his tongue, “that children dissent from their parental figures merely for the sake of doing so.”

Howard snorted, “Oh come on. You don’t really expect me to believe that you’ve lived the straight and narrow your _whole_ life.”

The physicist glared across the room at his intellectual peer. “My upbringing left little room for being rambunctious.”

“Indulge me,” Howard replied, sitting up straight and folding his hands in his lap.

Brian studied him a moment before deciding. “Very well. Pour me a drink,” he bargained.

Howard hummed, tipping the whiskey bottle and pouring a small amount into the other father’s glass. He had a feeling it was going to take more than alcohol to get this man to relax, but he put the idea away and decided to come back to it later, “Take your time; the night’s still young.”

The man nodded acquiescingly as he picked it up. “My family was poor. My father was an industrial worker, my mother a piano teacher,” he shared. “I recall they were great lovers, but _lousy_ at everything else,” he said scornfully. “Their passion and utter irresponsibility saw me the eldest of five siblings.” He took a sip of his whiskey, only to draw the glass away from his lips, popping them. “This is most excellent,” he complimented.

Howard nodded his thanks, “One of my favorites. Thought I’d bring out the big guns just in case you showed up with bad news.”

“It is well appreciated, in any case,” Brian assured, nodding vigorously. He resumed his story. “My father died on the job in 1961 in a workplace accident, but not before leaving a sixth in her belly. Grief cost her the child, but I can tell you it cost the family far more than that; she never re-married, riding the pittance compensation given to us for his life.” He threw the glass back, draining it.

“That must have been hard on everyone,” Howard commented.

“Yes,” Brian mumbled, “I suppose it was.” He’d never felt much closeness to his father, and losing him at an early age hadn’t helped. “As soon as I was able, I began earning a wage and rarely saw a penny of it to myself. Mother only spent her days at that damnable piano,” he sneered, recalling the less than dulcet plinking and plunking at all hours. Separating her from it had been the most difficult thing about moving her into the nursing home. Remorselessly, he had sold it and the proceeds had gone towards his mother’s medical bills; it was likely she still hadn’t forgiven him. He motioned his glass at Mr. Stark for more. “I provided, as long as I was required. The night before my eighteenth birthday I had all my belongings packed; I left at sunrise to seek my own fortune.”

Howards eyes widened. “All on your own? How did the rest of the family react to that?” he asked as he poured the man a second glass.

“I can only assume they got by, just as they always had,” he answered emotionlessly. “I did not seek correspondence until ten years later.”

“I see.”

“In that time, I got an apartment, acquired my doctorate, and got a job at the laboratory. Money was thin at first, but gradually there was more, enough to live a comfortable life on my own.”

Howard nodded, “So you built your own life without anyone’s help, up to a certain point anyway. That explains a lot.” The billionaire cleared his throat, “I didn’t exactly come from nothing myself, but I can tell you I didn’t have a fraction of what I do now starting out.” He poured himself an equal measure of whiskey and took a sip thoughtfully.

“Is that so?” Brian looked interested. He hadn’t presumed the man from humble beginnings.

“It’s so,” Howard answered firmly before realizing this meant it was his turn to share. He cleared his throat, “Though I’ll admit, at first I had no idea what I wanted to do with myself. I was in flight school for a time. Got my certification, got placed in the government forestry service flying helicopters, but I was bored as Hell in the woods of Bumfuck Nowhere. The most advanced piece of technology we had up there in that cabin was a two-way radio.” Howard lifted his eyes up to see Brian chuckling softly. Good, the badger was loosening up. Mr. Stark threw a leg over his opposite knee. “I guess all that boredom was good though. I knew I couldn’t do that the rest of my life. So I came back home and asked my parents about the possibility of college.” He twitched his foot in the air. “I wouldn’t say they were opposed so much as cautious. My pop of course pointed out that he’d never gotten an advanced degree and they’d done fine, but I wanted to make more of myself than that…” Howard trailed off as it occurred to him he’d revealed a very personal aspect of himself.

“You too saw the benefit on an education,” the physicist concluded, not seeming to notice the other man’s anxiousness. “A way to make something more of yourself, through hard-work and perseverance. Though an elevation in the social class system.” His respect for the man sitting across from him rose.

“I… I suppose that’s one way to put it,” Howard acknowledged, a bit beside himself as he took another sip of whiskey. “I knew I wanted to do something important. I wasn’t going to be able to do that up there in that cabin.” He scratched his nose. “Thankfully, I had a little money saved up from the stint, my parents chipped in a couple grand, and a few other relatives and acquaintances were willing to help me out. The rest was delivery tips earned between classes. And I figured out what I wanted to be. An inventor.”

“The decision seems to have paid off,” Brian commented, gesturing his drink in indication of the house around them.

Now Howard found himself chuckling. “That wasn’t always so clear. In fact, if it weren’t for Maria’s support and the help of a few close friends during my rough patches, I’d probably be in ‘the poor house’.” Howard cleared his throat yet again, “I had a lot of ideas. And an almost equal number of failures. A few things were patentable, here and there, but for the most part I was working at a deficit. When things took off I could’ve sworn I was dreaming.” He clicked his tongue and eyed the room they were sitting in. “I guess in retrospect, I went a little overboard building this house and everything. I just wanted to spoil her a little, since she was the only reason I didn’t give up. I wanted her, and later Tony, to have a perfect life.”

“Admirable, in some regards, if idealistic,” Brian said.

He took another sip, chuckling darkly, “Of course, death doesn’t really ever factor into anyone’s plans, and no matter how much money you have, or struggle you put up… I just wish I’d spent more time with her while she was here on Earth and less time thinking I could jerry-rig some way to keep her from leaving.”

There was a respectful silence before Brian spoke up again. “I must admit, I had never envisioned a life for myself such as the one I have now. I had no desire to procreate and add to a population that can just barely sustain itself,” he muttered, drinking again. “But then, I guess I never expected to meet Rebecca.” He swirled the umber liquid in his glass. “A woman can change a man...”

Howard smiled warmly to himself at the statement, “Don’t I know it.”

The two lapsed into silence again, nursing their respective drinks until Howard piped in again, “So you mean you’ve _never_ done anything crazy? Not even in your college years?”

“Define ‘crazy’,” Brian leveled his gaze at the other man.

“You know, pranking the neighbors, streaking, partying?” Howard elaborated, tilting his head when it seemed Brian was not following along, “Getting drunk, playing your music too loud, panty-raiding the sororities?” The innovator sighed, about ready to give up, “Skipping a class to go smoke a bowl?”

“Of those I can only claim the preantepenultimate and the last,” Brian set his empty glass on the coffee table.

Howard stared, trying to decipher the other man’s answer. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Apologies, ‘fourth from the last’,” Brian clarified.

“Oh. So you’re telling me you...” he trailed off, trying to recall the order of his examples.

The physicist helped him out. “I did my share of drinking and participated in the recreational use of marijuana.”

Howard snorted. “No kidding? You miss it at all?”

“Acquiring a ‘high’?” Brian clarified; the billionaire knew from the other morning that he sometimes drank his problems away.

“Yeah. I mean, you’re wound up a little tight, to put it lightly. You ever miss that mellow?”

Brian hummed. “It was a way to relax during stressful periods, when time could be afforded to it. It’s been years since I’ve done as much. It’s not an activity condoned by a life of responsibilities as a husband and father.”

The inventor’s eyes rolled in a large circle. “Yeah, but I wasn’t asking if you _should_ miss it. Just whether you did.”

Brian rubbed his chin. “Occasionally.”

A devil’s smirk threatened to pull at the corners of Howard’s mouth as he spoke, “What about right now?”

\--

It had been a painfully long shift for Tony already, and a particularly intense week for Salvatore’s Pizza as a whole, what with two ‘no call, no shows’ on the wait staff and a full dining room. Tony and Thor were pulling more than their own weight tonight, helping serve the customers and bus tables. Although it wasn’t what they were hired for, Sal was happy to pay them a little extra to ‘keep the shit from hitting the fan’. And aside from the awkward explanation Tony had to give Thor for the aforementioned figure of speech, things ran fairly smooth after they agreed to lend their assistance, albeit at a steady and hectic pace.

“Co-worker Anthony!” Thor hailed his friend. “The phone ringeth ‘off the hook’! Such business on a Thursday eve I’ve not seen for weeks.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty crazy.” If all weeks were like his first week was turning out, he was pretty sure he’d be dead in a month from congestive heart failure.

“Crazy… yes, that word shall suffice. Nay, they threaten to overwhelm even I. Wouldst thou take a few orders more to see the burden lessened?”

“I uh… Yeah, I guess I could--” Tony began.

“Friend, I am forever indebted to you! I only require you to deliver these two orders, as they are in direct opposition to my planned route.” Two receipts were jammed into his hand.

“Other side of town. Got it,” Tony replied, distracted as he read the addresses he’d been handed.

“Very well! I leave presently!”

“Hey Thor, this address--” Tony lifted his head mid-mumble to see that Thor had already bounded out the front door and sped off. “Nevermind,” the teen shook his head slowly. “Back to work,” he reminded himself. Just an hour more and he could go home, take a long hot shower and collapse into bed.

\--

Tony had expected many things upon the opening of his front door. The sight that greeted him, however, was as far as possible from anything his imagination could have fathomed.

“Tony!” his father regarded him through half lidded eyes, seemingly in constant struggle to fight back a giggle, “I forgot you worked at--” He was cut off by his own chortling, “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” He put a hand on his son’s shoulder, “Thanks for getting here so fast. We were _starving_.”

_‘We?’_ Tony wondered only long enough before a voice caught his ears. “Is that…” The voice chiming in from the background was so quiet Tony almost missed it, though as it grew in decibels he knew unmistakingly that it belonged to Bruce’s father, who had clomped his way up the stairs from the basement. “Is that _Anthony?_ You--” the man let out a snort as he got a look at the teen’s company-issued polo shirt-- “you look _ridiculous_!”

Tony reeled back defensively, “Mr. Banner? What are the Hell are you doing at my--”

Howard whipped around, shushing his guest almost comically. “I told you to wait downstairs. He’s not supposed to _see_ you,” he swiped his hand several times through the air in gesture of the basement. If he’d had a free hand, Tony would’ve face-palmed.

Mr. Banner hesitated, looking like he couldn’t decide whether it was too late to get out of sight or not. But the thought was soon forgotten, it seemed. “Howard, you didn’t tell me you had your boy delivering…” he drew in a breath to try and keep from saying it, but it only made him louder when he blurted it out, “pizzas! The _billionaire’s_ son!” He fell back against the wall, holding his sides as he rocked back and forth in a fit of giggles.

Howard whipped back around to face his son. “Oh my God, Tony, I need you to…” he started, before finally registering what Brian had said. “Hey, fuck you.” He jabbed a finger in the physicist’s direction. “My boy’s a hard worker and I’m proud of him!” he punched the air.

“Okay!” Brian forced his giggles to an end, “Okay… okay!” He wiped a tear from the corner of one red eye and came stumbling forward. “Next you’ll tell me my son’s dream job is flipping burgers.” The notion amused him enough he squeezed his eyes shut and gave a long snort, collapsing back into poorly-restrained laughter.

“Well delivering pizza was… was good enough for…” the elder Stark trailed off hazily, pausing with a chuckle, “Shit, what was I sayi-- ohh. Ohhhhh wooow...” Howard shook his head vigorously, reached up to touch his temple, “I think we overdid it. Holy shit. Brian.” He waited a moment after saying the man’s name, but was met with no response, “Brian. Brian, how much… how much did we have…?”

Tony wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry at the spectacle in front of him. “Oh Hell, you’re both baked out of your heads.” And they did it in _his_ basement no less. Tony's eyes narrowed briefly. He'd have to bring that up with his old man when he wasn't high as a kite.

Howard shushed his boy about a beat too late, whispering way too loudly, “You can’t tell _anybody_.”

“Who would he…?” Brian began, until wide-eyed paranoia took over, “Oh nononono _please_ don’t tell my wife or son! If they ever found out it would be demi…” he paused, now stuck on trying to form the word, “deni… devast-- damn it all. It would _ruin everything_.”

“Relax!” Howard slapped his houseguest over the back. “Boy can keep a secret. Right, boy?”

Tony bit back the urge to genuinely comment on this situation in favor of playing it to his advantage, “Yeah, yeah I can keep a secret… assuming you don’t mind me spending the next weekend of my choice over at your place.”

Brian blinked. “That’s… that’s blackmail. How-- Howard, your boy is _blackmailing_ me!” he grabbed the man by the arm and shook.

Howard was lapsing in and out of chuckles at this point, “Pssh! He’s negotiating a fair trade. You need to chill out.”

“Take _all_ the time you need to think it over,” Tony added with mock-reassurance, “By the way, your pizza’s getting cold. It’s comes to thirty-five dollars and eighty-three cents.”

“Shit, what did we order?” Howard whispered back to Brian.

“I can’t remember,” Brian squeezed his eyes shut.

Tony eyeballed the receipt, reading down the list deadpan, “Says here we’ve got a large sausage and pepperoni pizza, side of mozzarella sticks, order of garlic knots, order of onion rings, order of french fries, two bags of barbeque potato chips and a two liter bottle of Coke.”

"That sounds _awesome_ ," Howard gaped, "Did we really order all that?”

The son sighed loudly. “Yes, Dad.”

“How much?" Howard started fishing through his pockets for the cash.

"I just said it was thirty-five eighty-three," Tony rolled his eyes as he continued to read, “Also says here you paid with a VISA. I’m just gonna need you to sign.”

Howard snorted, grabbing the receipt and pen his son held out for him and signing with such care one would think he was trying to forge his own signature. Blazes, he didn’t remember reading off his card number either.

“So, Mr. Banner?” the teen readied his gaze against his friend’s father’s as his own father copied down his signature.

“Anthony, you know you’re welcome over at our home,” Brian tangled with the boy who was now tapping his foot on the porch; he plopped both hands on the boy’s shoulders once or twice. “Drop in whenever you’d like.”

“Great,” Tony replied, stiffening at the contact. He wasn’t as readily willing to write Mr. Banner off as his son had been lately, but adults doing teenager things and trying to get buddy-buddy with him still made him insanely uncomfortable, “Our little secret then.” He glanced over at his dad, who was staring at the food, fingers twitching.

“Well then, c’mon, boy,” the man licked his lips. “I gave you my signature. Give it over.”

“Yeah, yeah. Here’s your _munchies_.” He handed over the goods and stepped back to watch his and Bruce’s father attack it like a pack of hungry wolves, Brian’s fingers greedily groping through the plastic carry bag for the mozzarella sticks at the bottom while Howard tried to fit an entire garlic knot in his mouth whole. Both of them were acting like they’d never eaten before. Tony felt his eyes roll. “Remember, the Febreeze is in the bathroom,” he said before slamming the door on his way out, muttering on his way down the steps. “Grown-ups are so fucking irresponsible.”


	54. Chapter 54

Rebecca quickly BCC:’d the email to 1-C’s supervisor and closed her work laptop, sliding it into her carry bag and zipping it shut. It was a little early to be leaving, but it was Friday and she’d gotten everything there was to get done done. She pulled it onto a shoulder as she stood from her desk and fished her keys out to lock up her office for the weekend. She’d gotten a lot done this week... made several important inspections, gotten significant chunks of data validated... and she was feeling rather proud of herself for it!

Glowing, she headed down the hall towards the security checkpoint to leave the laboratory. A couple of voices conversing caused her flats to click to a halt. It had sounded like her husband and… She rounded the corner to see Howard Stark speaking with a laboratory specialist. “Yes yes, I’ll have the equipment back to you shortly. I only need it for a little longer.”

Well, that was odd. She could have sworn it was Brian’s voice she’d heard in addition to Howard’s. Rebecca shook her head and, putting on a bright smile, proceeded over to the other man, waiting politely on the side for him to finish his current conversation.

“Yes, I can compensate you if need be for the over-time usage. Thank you.” The specialist left. “Bah,” Howard grumped, swiveling about only to come face-to-face with a beaming Rebecca. "Reb-- Mrs. Banner!" Howard caught himself, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder, flashing her a winning smile, "A pleasant surprise as always."

“It shouldn’t be _that_ much of a surprise; I do work here,” she smirked back, adjusting how the laptop case was positioned on her shoulder. She was just thrilled to have run into the fetching inventor again. “How have you been, Howard? Projects coming along?” she asked interestedly.

"I've been alright. Missing your leftovers, to be honest; Tony’s been eating them all," Howard snorted. "And yes, one of my more recent... side projects especially is coming along well, though I can't be sure until the results come in tomorrow."

“You poor dear,” Rebecca reached out to pet his arm sympathetically. She made a mental note to make an extra big batch tonight so she could send some over with Bruce. “Goodness though, results on a Saturday? The private sector never sleeps, does it?” the woman mused.

“Not if there’s to be any technological advances this century,” Howard quipped.

Rebecca giggled a bit. “This side project…” she led in slyly, “it wouldn’t happen to involve cold atom physics, would it? Brian told me you contracted him.”

Howard blanched for a moment. Well, good on Brian for making up a quick lie. He chuckled to cover it up, shaking his head slowly, "Can't pull the wool over your eyes, can I? Yes, your husband is involved, to a certain extent."

The woman hummed knowingly. “His dedication has been mostly to this lab,” she said, looking upward to glance around it thoughtfully, “I can’t imagine he would be involved much more than that.” That he’d even accept such an offer at all had come as a surprise to her. Rebecca’s gaze fell back down to Howard. “You didn’t contract him for my sake, did you?” she inquired, somewhat worried the choice could have been favoritism.

"Oh no, of course not. His qualifications made him an apt choice. He's a brilliant man," Howard assured.

“Oh, certainly,” Rebecca nodded in rapid agreement; she felt a little embarrassed for suspecting anything different. Mr. Stark was a professional. “I’m sorry, that was a silly thing of me to ask.”

"Not at all," Howard dismissed, "An intelligent woman like you shouldn't feel the need to apologize so often."

“I… w-well…” she was sure she was blushing now and she hurried to recover, “That’s sweet of you to say, Howard. Thank you.” Honestly, she was absolutely tickled pink. “Well, I hope that Brian can lend your project just what it needs.” She looked down at her wrist watch. “Goodness, I should probably get going...”

"Wait!" Howard spluttered out, and before he could stop himself, he’d hooked his hand into the inside of her elbow. If she left now Brian wouldn’t have enough time to get home and get started and their whole plan would be ruined. He wracked his brain for a plausible way to stall. Rebecca glanced down at where he was holding her; he pulled his hand away as if it were on fire. "What's your hurry?” he put on a smile, “Grab a coffee with me?"

Her face lit up once more, delighted by the invitation being extended to her, rather than vice versa. She desperately wanted to accept, but obligation came first. “I’d love to, Howard, but I really ought to get back and fix dinner. The boys will be hungry, and I don’t want to fill up.”

"Well Brian has a few things to finish up on his own-- on the project, of course,” he bumbled out, “and I'm pretty sure Bruce wouldn't mind waiting a few minutes. Boy can get a head-start on his homework!” He smacked a hand with a fist and then fidgeted awkwardly. He coughed, “Plus I don't mind just talking. Beverages are optional."

“Well, alright then,” Rebecca spoke. “Yes, I’d like that very much, Howard,” she corrected her statement, swishing her skirt happily with one hand. The two of them went through the security checkpoint together and began in the direction of the coffee shop. She knew she shouldn’t be this excited over coffee, but she simply couldn’t help it. Howard was so interesting to talk to and he had a downright charming personality, so how could she not look forward to it, even a little?

When they’d gotten their drinks and taken a seat at the table where they’d had their last discussion over coffee, Rebecca spoke again. “How is Tony? Is he doing alright? Bruce delivered some pretty difficult news.” She placed her computer bag down by her feet.

"I'm sorry?" Howard asked, not following.

“Did he not tell you?” the mother guessed.

"Clearly not, then," Howard deduced. "What happened?"

“Well…” she sighed somewhat, “Bruce told Tony he wasn’t quite ready to date yet. And I heard it was a bit of a shock for him. I didn’t know how the poor dear had taken it.”

Howard shook his head, "But they've been..." he paused before letting the truth slip, clearing his throat, "They've been so close." In fact, he hadn’t really noticed a change in their behavior at all. And he should know… He really shouldn’t have gone so cheap on the insulation when he’d had the mansion built.

“Yes, well…” she paused to take a sip of her drink, “I guess Bruce is just a bit anxious about the whole thing.” Rebecca shook her head. “This is our fault really. Brian and I haven’t provided the best example for him growing up.” She looked melancholically at the tabletop.

Howard reached across the table and grabbed her hand in an impulsive attempt at reassurance, and the contact gave him goosebumps once he’d realized what he’d done. At that point, it was too late to pull away without looking foolish, so he simply focused his gaze and spoke, “Don’t get down on yourself. We’re all bound to make mistakes in parenting; you’re sitting with a prime example. I haven’t always done the best by Tony but...” he sucked in a large breath of air, “it’s recognizing those mistakes and making an effort to correct them that makes all the difference. And I think you and Brian are doing just that.”

The woman’s fingers curled around his, squeezing. She gave a light chuckle, a little beside herself at the reassurance. “That’s very insightful. Thank you, Howard,” she said. She took another drink. “I just want Bruce to know it’s alright. To feel a little uncertain about things like this. We can’t always explain why we love the person we love, we just do.”

“Well of course. I’m sure they’ll work it out in their own time.” God, her hands were warm… and remarkably soft. The inventor struggled to remain focused. “And if my boy looks like he needs a talking to, I’ll be ready to lay it on him,” he replied, offering a sincere smile. Were his palms sweating now? That couldn’t be right.

Rebecca nodded, thumb rubbing absently over the top of the man’s hand. “That’s good to know. I… well…” she looked on the verge of saying something and considering not, “I asked Brian to do similar, but I don’t know if he has.” Her fingers brushed her neck, only to realize the pendant he had given her wasn’t there. She hurriedly drew them back away. “They’ve seemed a little at odds as of late. More so than usual and… Oh, I’m probably worrying too much...” she dismissed the notion with a shake of her head.

Howard took note of the idle gesture thoughtfully. He shrugged, “Maybe, maybe not. It’s hard to say how much worry is precisely the right amount. It is, unfortunately, an imprecise science.”

“If only parenting was like engineering,” Rebecca continued the joke, picking up her coffee to take a long sip, her other hand still lightly clasped with Howard’s. It was amazing how at ease his casual choice of words put her. She felt like she could let out her concerns, knowing he would empathize with her, rather than challenging or antagonizing her. She swallowed and her eyes returned to the other man’s. Her head tipped. “This is so nice and relaxing though, just sitting here and talking with you, Howard.” She pat his hand.

“I agree.” Howard let out what he _would_ have liked to have labelled an awkward chuckle, had the situation felt awkward in the slightest. It didn’t, and that knowledge was what was a little worrisome. Neither of them were breaking eye contact, and her hand was still on his. God, how must this look from the outside, to bystanders? Howard found himself thinking that this was about the time when one of them should clear their throat and pick the conversation back up or politely excuse themselves to other things.

“It’s funny realizing it now, but I almost feel as if this is something I’ve been missing in my life…” Rebecca mused, finally retracting her hand to place both of them around her coffee cup. “Having someone to talk to. About family life. Work. We really should do this more often, you and I.”

Howard didn't know if that suggestion was prudent or not. Then again, what was wrong with two friends getting together every once in a while? Nothing had to happen beyond that, and there was no reason it would jeopardize his efforts to help Brian improve his family relationships. He smiled and let the worry roll off his shoulders, "Yeah, I think I'd like that too."

She smiled back, the expression crinkling the skin around her eyes. They drank in pleasant silence for awhile, the seconds ticking by. Her thoughts returned to their children then. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but… have you ever considered re-marrying?” Rebecca asked. The question hung for a moment before she hurriedly added, “I mean, being a single parent must be so taxing. I don’t think I could’ve raised Bruce all on my own.”

“I… ah…” Howard stammered, floored less by the question and more by the individual asking it. He cleared his throat and reminded himself that it was merely an objective question on Mrs. Banner’s part, _not_ a statement of her own interest. “Yes, and at the same time, no. The first few years, well, I simply wasn’t ready to move on,” his words were a bit unsteady and he took the time to draw a deep breath in through his nostrils, “Though eventually I started dating again, here and there, you know, but it never really worked out.” He shrugged his shoulders noncommittally, not going into detail on the various flings and one-nighters he’d had, coping with the loss in a backwards way.

“Why not?” Rebecca queried.

“Ah… I don’t know…” the billionaire rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess my heart wasn’t really into it. And I could hardly speak to Tony under normal circumstances; how the Hell would I have gone about telling him he was getting a stepmom if the time came?” He shook his head, internally chuckling at the utter disaster it would’ve likely been.

“But what about now?” the woman pressed, “Tony’s older now. I’m sure he’d understand. Surely you must sometimes feel that you… need someone.”

Howard’s moustache twitched, sitting up very straight in his chair. “Well. I suppose,” he established. “But then there’s still the matter that my impulse to work would drive any woman to insanity. Maria would tell you, were she here.”

Rebecca giggled. “Sounds like you just haven’t met one with the right inclination,” she stated, gesturing off her cup as she took a long drink.

Actually, his problem wasn’t so much that he hadn’t met said ‘one’ as that the most viable candidate was already married to an emotionally-challenged hard-ass. Howard swallowed, eyes darting to the left and right in search of nothing in particular, so long as they led to some semblance of a distraction. This was hardly where he wanted this conversation to go. Well, alright, that was a lie, but it wasn’t where he should _allow_ it to go. After all, his goal was to help Brian, and he didn’t think that any part of that was getting closer to the other man’s wife. “‘Right inclination’…” he repeated, trying to remain cavalier. “And what would that be? In your opinion,” he tacked on.

“Well…” Rebecca thought carefully, “perhaps someone who has a genuine interest in your work, as much as you do. Who recognizes that commitment takes many forms, be it family life or a career. Someone who wouldn’t mind spending time down in the lab with you on occasion, or who you could discuss your work with, bounce ideas off of over dinner.”

His mouth formed the words before he could stop them, “Or coffee.”

Rebecca smiled brilliantly. “Yes, or over coffee.”

“R-Rebecca-- M-mrs. Banner…” he tripped out, only to hear the telltale chime of his cell phone. He pulled it out to read the on-screen text. Brian. Oh thank God the man had had the sense to send him a progress report. _‘I’ve arrived at home with the ingredients. Prep time is ten minutes.’_ He looked back up to the woman who was waiting patiently. “I’m sorry,” he bobbed his head apologetically as he stood and returned the device to his breast pocket, “Urgent matter. I’d best be on my way.”

“Oh, of course,” Rebecca acknowledged, still wearing a smile, “Please, don’t be caught up on my accord.” He chuckled at just how understanding she was, not knowing he was making it up. He turned to go. “When will I be seeing you again?” she inquired.

Howard slipped two fingers down his collar to ease the tie back away from his neck. He turned back around to smile at her. “When would you like to see me again?” he offered. _‘Oh damnit, Howard, you’re digging yourself deeper.’_

Rebecca considered it. She’d be lying to herself if she said she didn’t want to see him at the very next opportunity. “How would Monday be? We can go out to lunch.”

He rocked on his feet. “Sounds…” he deliberated for a word, “Sounds fantastic.”

“Then I’ll see you then,” she smiled, standing to pull her computer bag back over her shoulder. Two strides and she came up beside him, pressing a kiss to his temple. And with that she left for the laboratory exit.

Howard stood frozen for a moment, resisting the urge to touch the place where Rebecca’s lips had been until he could no longer hear her footsteps on the linoleum floor. Letting out a rugged sigh, he hefted up his briefcase and resolved to get home as soon as possible. He hated taking cold showers in winter, but he supposed it couldn’t be helped. “God, Howard, you old dog, what the Hell are you doing?” he mumbled, taking his leave.

\--

Her mood was effervescent on the drive home, and when she clicked the garage door opener, she was a bit surprised to see Brian’s Camry already sitting in the garage. He must have managed to get those things for Howard’s project done early. Still rather tickled by the notion that her husband was getting to work for Stark Industries, she parked and shut off the engine, gathering her things before exiting the vehicle and going towards the entrance.

Rebecca opened the door and headed for the bedroom to drop off her things quickly. She’d best get dinner started right away. As she moved toward the closet, she noticed the small white box on the vanity table. Her lips turned up and she dropped everything on the bed to give her attention to it. Rebecca opened the box and smiled at the repaired pendant nestled inside. Brian had gotten it back from the jewelers. Happily, she took it out and positioned herself in front of the mirror as she lifted it up to fasten it back around her neck, only to hesitate short of closing the clasp. She stared at it in her reflection.

Rebecca scoffed at her own hesitation. Well, why wouldn’t she put it back on now that it had been returned to her in perfect condition? She’d missed wearing it the past few days and was glad to have it back. Surely… surely she hadn’t hesitated with _Howard_ in mind, had she?

Had she?

Rebecca scolded herself at the very thought, and chasing the doubt away, secured the chain, adjusting the pendant to hang symmetrically. She then turned to put her coat and purse away.

She emerged from the bedroom a few short moments later, feet carrying her to the kitchen. She looked up, only to be startled by the man already there. Her eyes went wide. Standing, facing the sink was her husband. He’d removed his tie he’d put on for work and untucked his shirt, an unusually casual occurrence on its own as he rarely ever dressed down until later in the evening just prior to bed. He’d rolled his sleeves up past his elbows, to keep them from getting soiled, as he was currently hollowing out the insides of several peppers which he’d cut in half.

“Brian…?” she said the man’s name with befuddlement as she came around, “What are you doing, dear?”

Her voice caused him to turn around. “Ah, evening, Rebecca. Just doing some preparation,” he answered, waving his hand over the completed halves. “I thought we’d cook stuffed bell peppers tonight.”

Her lips parted. “ _We?_ ”

His motions halted momentarily. “I presume it’s alright if I lend you a hand tonight? I should have all the ingredients; I purchased them from the store.”

“I…” her heart was fluttering so much now it made it a little difficult to speak, “Yes, of course, Brian. I just didn’t expect… well...” Hadn’t Howard said her husband was busy with the cold atom project? How had he had time to go the store? But goodness, this was silly to be thinking about, her husband was offering to cook with her! Her cheeks flushed and she swept over to the stove to see that her husband had already set a pot of water to boiling to steam the peppers. “I’ll start the beef,” Rebecca said, already bending for the pan to set it on the largest burner. She felt like she was soaring, she was so enthralled by this moment. Cooking together? Why, it had been years! What in the world could have possessed him…? Trying not to let her unbridled thoughts distract her, she fetched the ground meat from the refrigerator, peeling off the grocery store saran wrap.

By the time she had the beef in the pan and had turned to grab the wooden spoon, Brian already had it held out towards her with a slight smile. A little giggle escaped the woman. “Thank you, dear,” she said, taking it from him and turning again, almost bashfully.

Brian felt his smile twitch a little larger and he took all the halves to quickly rinse them again under the faucet before putting them in the colander. “Pardon me,” he said as he walked over to stand beside her so he could set the colander in the steaming pot; she inched over almost imperceptibly, preferring the proximity, even if it did have them bumping elbows a bit. “A nice browning forming already,” he commented on the sizzling beef. “Should I grab the rice?”

“Oh, yes, please,” Rebecca requested politely. “We’ll need to add it just as soon as I drain the fat and add broth.”

The man stooped for the large bag of white rice in the pantry, grabbing a bouillon cube while he was there. “What measurements again?”

“Half a cup of rice, one and a quarter broth,” his wife answered off the top of her head, her focus on swiftly dicing half an onion.

“Excellent,” he answered, grabbing the required measuring cups. Brian unwrapped the small cube and dropped it into the 1 ¼ cups of water and put it in the microwave. Momentarily without a necessary task, he drew close to his wife, brushing her hair back. His fingers lingered on the white gold chain before he leaned in to place a kiss on her neck.

Her eyes shut. “Brian…” she spoke almost chastisingly, but her head still tilted to afford him better access, savoring the day’s stubble on his jaw rubbing against her skin.

“Hm?” his lips travelled further up.

“You’re distracting me…” she said with a giggle, making only a passing attempt at returning to slicing the tomato on the cutting board.

“Don’t be silly,” he answered with a playful scoff, wrapping both arms around her middle to pull her into him a little more, “ _You’re_ the distraction.” He trailed his nose along the ridge of her ear, breathing into it, “You were back then and you still are today… You’re so beautiful.”

Rebecca thrummed; she was melting like a pat of butter in a hot pan in her husband’s embrace as his words caressed her ear. She set the knife down to turn into him, to press their mouths together; her fingers smoothed up his furred forearms. The microwave timer began to beep, but she ignored it, feeling her passions rising the more she kissed the man. It wasn’t until he quite suddenly began tickling her tummy that she was brought out of her passion and forced to pull away, giggling furiously, “Bri-Brian, stop!” She backed into the counter, and he followed, not yet relenting. “Stop, Brian!” she flailed lightly at his fingers as they continued to cause laughter to peel from her. “Oh my goodness, stop! I can’t _breathe_ , dear!”

Brian grinned, swiftly pulling his hands back. “It would appear you were right. I was distracting you after all,” he said, removing the hot broth from the microwave.

The woman laughed and gave his arm a light smack. “You were tickling me; that’s hardly fair!” She leaned up to kiss him again. “Now let’s finish up. We don’t want to burn anything.”

Together both of them saw the mixture combined and the sauce made. The rice was added last to plump and absorb the excess fluid. Rebecca set the lid over the top of the pan. “There. Now we just need to let it simmer for twenty minutes and it will be ready!” she announced, her smile absolutely radiant. She practically felt like twirling in a circle right there in the middle of the kitchen.

“Ah, perfect timing,” Brian noted.

“Oh?” Rebecca turned round. “What fo--?” she didn’t get out as her husband’s lips found hers again, rougher this time, a hand each cusping her cheek and hip. An eager moan escaped her as he pushed her up against the counter once more; her fingers grabbed for the lip of it for leverage as she let her legs spread open for him to step between. Rebecca felt her skin flush hot as Brian’s hand wormed up her skirt, sliding up her thigh. His fingers hooked into her underwear, tugging it down with a purposeful slowness, teasing the breath out of her with anticipation. His mouth left hers then, but the only sound she made was a gasp as the man swiftly dropped to his knees in front of her.

“A little appetizer,” Brian smirked at her just briefly before he ducked his head underneath her skirt. Her hand leapt to the back of his head beneath the fabric and she let out a keening moan, head falling back with pleasure.

\--

The clap of the sensei’s hands popped Bruce’s eyes open, terminating the end-of-class group meditation period. He stood from kneeling position with the rest of the students and they bowed out, simultaneously dictating their respect for the school, its master and his teachings.

Bruce got his backpack out of the cubbies and went to the changing rooms to get out of his uniform and back into his street clothes. Class had ended a bit too soon tonight in his opinion; he would’ve liked to stay longer to get more of the week’s vexations out. There had been a _lot_ of vexations. What’s more, there were another fourteen weeks of his Junior year left, so he’d better get used to it.

He exited the Jiu Jitsu center and climbed onto his bike. Dragging a hand back through his sweat-slicked hair, he slid his helmet on over his head-- his hair was getting pretty long. Long enough to be falling into his eyes occasionally; he should probably consider going and getting it cut soon. Maybe tomorrow. There was a barber shop in the same shopping center as the smoke shop. He needed another pack. ‘Needed’. Bruce clicked his tongue sourly. Of course, he’d need to get his fake ID back from Tony first to enable him to make the purchase. That assumed Tony would give it back. And that he could even get ahold of Tony outside of school. His friend had been incommunicado for most of the week.

His thoughts kept him occupied on the drive back home, and when he stepped inside he was greeted by the aroma of stuffed bell peppers. That actually made the corners of his lips turn up a bit. He loved when his mom made that dish. “Bruce, you’re home just in time!” his mother called out to him, hearing him enter through the garage, “Dinner is just now going on the table.”

“Be there in a sec,” he called back as he hurried to his room to drop off his stuff. “You want me to get dad?” he offered, knowing the man would be up in his study.

“He’s already down,” he heard her reply. The teen’s eyebrow quirked at the information but he shook it off readily enough. He proceeded back out to the dining room where his mother and father were both seated, waiting patiently for him; he joined them at the table. Rebecca smiled at him and then looked over at her husband. “Brian? Blessing?”

The man nodded. They bowed their heads. “Heavenly Father, we thank you for the meal before us and the loved ones whom we share it with.” Bruce tried to keep his eyes from rolling beneath his eyelids as his father went on, “See that it nourishes us and gives us the strength to continue and do the best we can. Amen.”

Bruce mumbled his ‘Amen’, opening his eyes to see his mother had reached over to place her hand in her husband’s at some point during the short prayer. “Dig in, sweetheart,” she said, gesturing him to get his first.

He reached out to grab the serving dish and put two of the pepper halves on his plate before handing it to his father on the right. “Thank you, Bruce,” he said. The teen exhibited proper etiquette, waiting for both his mom and dad to each have their portions, and then picked up his silverware to cut into the bright red, rice-and-beef-stuffed morsel.

He delivered a lightly steaming bite to his mouth and found himself humming happily around the mix of flavors. “This is delicious, Mom,” he said before taking another bite.

“Well thank you, darling,” she tittered. “You have your father to thank as well; he helped cook tonight.”

Bruce did a double-take on the man seated to his right. His _dad_ had helped with dinner? In the _kitchen?_ Didn’t that go against the grain of things his father had said in the past about ‘a homemaker’s duties’? Was this some way of buttering his mom up? Or was it a genuine expression of pitching in because his mom was working now and so that meant the lines between breadwinner and caregiver had blurred? He didn’t begin to know what to think. He didn’t think that this had ever happened before in all his seventeen years.

“As I intend to from now on, every Friday evening,” the man interjected. Rebecca gave a small warble and took his hand again.

“I, um… thaaanks...” the teen mumbled out slowly, adding more food to his mouth as he dropped his gaze to the tablecloth. It was really good, even if he was sort of pettily wishing now that he could retract the sentiment. The dinner conversation turned to how each of their days had gone; Bruce contributed when he was asked, not feeling very conversational on the whole. When dinner concluded, he excused himself and went back to his room, closing the door behind him.

The high schooler sighed, going over to the window to pull it up. He leaned out onto the sill, striking a match and coaxing the flame to ignite the end of the cigarette with a couple shallow puffs. He wasn’t really even _that_ strung out, but he just kind of wanted to smoke one, so he was. Much like he’d been doing all week. He pursed his lips and blew to watch the smoke travel out and waft upwards in the cold air. Extracting his phone from his pocket, he briefly scrolled through the several messages he’d sent to Tony already with no response. His nose crinkled as he began to compose another which likely wouldn’t receive response either.

_‘Hey. I’ve really been missing you, you know. 18 of 20.’_

He hit send and returned his interest to his cigarette, setting the cellular device on the window sill to keep an eye on it. For next several minutes, his phone didn’t buzz. His eyes shut and his teeth grit together. He snatched the phone back up and tapped the keys harshly.

_‘Listen. I know you’re really busy with this “project” of yours, but could you at least *respond*?’_ His tongue pressed to his upper lip, reading it over, especially the quotes he’d placed around ‘project’. No, that was no good. He’d believed Tony at first, but he was starting to have his doubts there was any project at all. More likely Tony was just using it to cover up hanging out with other school pals. Bruce sighed and discarded the message.

A knock sounded on his door then. Bruce startled, cigarette still perched culpably in his fingers. “Yeah?” he called back.

“Bruce.” It was his dad. “Your mother wanted me to speak with you. Can I come in?”

Again with this? The teenager groused, hurriedly stubbing out his unfinished vice and flicking it into the shrubbery beneath his window. He slid the pane shut. “Yeah, fine,” he answered, grabbing up his iPod to look busy.

The man entered, shutting the door after himself. “I hope now is of no inconvenience to you,” Brian said.

Bruce resisted the urge to snort, hopping into his bed. “Well, my teachers all piled a lot of new assignments on me to do over the weekend,” he shrugged; it wasn’t like it was anything new or surprising.

“Then I won’t trouble you long,” Brian acquiesced. As Howard had said, wounds were still fresh and his boy may not yet be very communicative. He got right to the brass tacks. “Your mother tells me you were asking about she and I.”

Bruce felt his breath hitch. “Yeah, so?” he tried to keep from snapping back too hard. Was he going to be in trouble for that? What the Hell else had she gone and told his old man? Or was her ‘good confidence’ good for nothing?

“So,” the man continued in his stead, “I wished to communicate to you that should you desire to discuss the subject with me… I am open to it,” he finished plainly. “It’s natural for a boy your age to have questions, and I would like to do my part as your father to address them.”

For the second time that evening, Bruce found himself both stunned and mildly stupefied by his father’s choice of actions. He shifted anxiously in bed, turning his head to regard the wall beside him as if it made a more interesting conversationalist. “Yeah, sure,” he acknowledged. He didn’t know a time when, or even _if_ , he’d ever go to his father to ask, but it didn’t make sense to spit in his old man’s eye just for having extended the offer.

Brian hesitated, feeling a rare moment of empathy looking upon his huddled boy. What he would have formerly perceived as childish mopeyness necessitating a firm upbraiding, he saw more for what it was now: a youth uncertain he wanted anything to do with a parent that had let him down. That feeling he could sympathize with.

He cleared his throat, glancing upward briefly to regard the starscape on the ceiling. “Did you intend to see Anthony this weekend?”

Bruce raked his gaze over to his father. “I think he’s busy,” he answered bitterly. Probably with Steve, Phil and Thor.

“Hm,” the elder Banner issued. He recalled the little… bargain he’d accidentally ended up striking with his son’s friend. “Well, be sure to remind him that he is welcome over here as well. You needn’t always be going over to his place.”

“Yeah, okay,” Bruce mumbled.

“‘Yes, sir’,” Brian corrected.

The teen resisted an eye roll. “Yes, sir.”

Satisfied, Brian moved for the door. He halted with his hand on the knob as he sniffed the air. Was that… tobacco he smelled? He looked back at his son. Bruce stiffened uncomfortably, feeling his pulse pick up in preparation for the imminent shouting match. But the man merely hummed, turned the doorknob and resumed his exit.

Bruce let out a sigh of relief as soon as the door shut. That had been too close. He pressed his nose into the arm of his shirt to take a whiff, grimacing slightly. Yeah, the scent was there alright. Probably should shower and do his own laundry. His phone buzzed on the sill and he leapt out of bed for it.

_‘Hey. Sorry, didn’t hear my phone. I miss you too.’_

Bruce regarded the text with a bit of disappointment; though he didn’t know what he’d been really hoping for. He didn’t want any further letdown, but he ventured anyway, _‘Is it alright if I come by tomorrow? Mom has some leftovers for you and your dad and I want to get my ID.’_ He hit send and waited, watching until his phone darkened from inactivity. He clicked it back on and drummed his fingers on the sill until it darkened a second time. “Seriously?” he expostulated. He rolled his eyes and slammed the device down exasperatedly; he’d go take a damn shower. Maybe by then Tony could be bothered to get back to him.

He proceeded to the bathroom and dressed down, letting his clothes fall into a heap on the tile floor for the meantime. He was a little less sparing with the water than he usually was at home-- showering at Tony’s had the benefit of an endless hot water supply and a general lack of concern over the cost of the water bill, both of which were good things, _especially_ when Tony was there in the shower with him. The thought had a somewhat undesired effect on his lower half, but he tried to put that _particular_ aspect of missing his friend to the back of his mind as he rinsed and toweled off.

He returned to his room with the towel around his waist and his dirty clothes in hand. He dropped them in the hamper in his closet and checked his phone.

_‘Any chance I could just drop it off instead?’_

One of Bruce’s eyebrows popped up at the response. Honestly he didn’t care so much so long as he got his ID. And, of course, that he got to see Tony. _‘Yeah, I guess that works. When should I expect you?’_ He wondered how long he’d have to wait this time, but he was mildly surprised when Tony replied right away.

_‘Is your Dad gonna be home?’_

Well that wasn’t an answer. He keyed back, _‘Yeah. It’s a Saturday. Why?’_ He waited a few moments and then shook his head. He grabbed his hamper and went to put the load in the wash. By the time he’d gotten back he had a new text.

_‘Nevermind. You sure I’m allowed over?’_

_‘You’re allowed over.’_ He didn’t understand why his friend was acting so dodgy. He swabbed an ear with a Q-tip.

_‘I guess as early as you like then. I gotta be gone by like eleven though.’_

Bruce frowned at this information. That was an early departure. _‘Okay. Eight?’_

_‘Geez. Eight AM on a Saturday? You’re lucky I like you. :P’_

Bruce brushed his fingers through his damp hair with irritation. Hadn’t Tony just said ‘as early as you like’? _‘You can come later, it’s just’_ he stopped mid-sentence, trying to figure out how to continue. He backspaced the ‘, it’s just’ to put a period instead and re-worded, _‘I just think if you’re going to visit, it should be for more than a couple of hours. We haven’t hung out all week.’_

_‘I know. I’m sorry, but my hands are tied right now.’_

The teenager let out his third sigh of exasperation in the past half hour. He could understand being busy. If Tony was in fact busy and not just fucking off some other way he didn’t want Bruce to know about. He shook his head. At least the other boy was talking to him properly now, so there was that. _‘Yeah, fine.’_

_‘Hey, Fandango says Warm Bodies is coming out the 1st of next month.’_

Bruce frowned at the text, wondering if it was just an attempt to change the subject. _‘Zombie flick, right?’_

_‘Yeah. I was going to ask if you wanted to go.’_

For the briefest of moments his heart soared. Sure, it was awhile from now-- a couple of weeks to be exact-- but it proved that Tony _had_ been thinking about him. Them. Getting together with him. He shook his head roughly. Another text came in on his phone.

_‘I wasn’t sure you’d want to.’_

Bruce’s fingers hit the keys at a lightning pace. _‘No, I want to.’_

_‘The two of us, going out to see a movie. You’re sure?’_

His tongue flicked out to drag over his lips, the feeling of self-consciousness creeping up on him. Maybe it did seem a little… romantically-inclined, but they’d discussed this. Tony’s expression of concern was proof they were on the same page. He tapped his fingers against the outer edge of his phone before composing back, _‘Yeah, why not?’_

_‘Well, I just didn’t think you’d be comfortable with the implications of said scenario. It’s pretty much a date, unless we bring friends.’_

There it was, plain as day. Bruce forced his nervousness to ebb. It was an opportunity to get together with his best friend and that was one of the things he wanted most right now. Plus, zombies might not be his go-to sci-fi genre, but it was still liable to be fun to pick apart. And no way in Hell was he letting Tony drag his other friends into this. _‘It’s fine. I’d like to go. Just you and me. Thanks for being considerate and straight-forward with me; I appreciate it.’_

_‘No problem. And cool. I’ll let you know what times it’s showing and we can pick out when we wanna go.’_

A grin finally pulled across Bruce’s face then. It was maybe embarrassing to admit, but he was stupid-levels of excited having the outing to look forward to.

_‘Oh and speaking of movies with friends, you haven’t noticed anything weird with Barton lately, have you? I missed him at lunch the past few days and he hasn’t shown up or texted. We were supposed to have our Tarantin-a-thon today. You think maybe he’s sick?’_

_‘I wouldn’t know.’_ Bruce responded back dismissively. _‘Hey, so what’s this about your dad “hiring” my dad in his cold atom physics division?’ he sent off._

_‘I don’t know anything about cold atom physics, but I diiiid catch them smoking a bowl in my basement, so obviously they were together for some reason.’_

Bruce stared at the text in his hand. _‘You’re pulling my leg.’_

_‘Nope. And you can’t tell anyone I told you that. I mean it. Honestly I shouldn’t have even told you. We made a deal.’_

_‘You made a deal. With my dad?’_ Bruce’s incredulity only rose further.

_‘Conjugal visits. Well, *he* doesn’t know they’re conjugal ;). Anyway, it’s all hinging on my silence. He was scared shitless of what you guys’d think if you found out.’_

Bruce hummed; yeah, he could understand why. While on the whole relatively harmless, it was an illegal activity. The fact that his father had grounded him for drinking underage but had left work early to get stoned himself was hypocrisy at its very finest. He snorted contemptfully, finally moving to get dressed now. He pulled loose the knot in his towel and caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror out of the corner of his eye; it caused an impish idea to cross his mind. With a partial smirk, he turned and pulled up the camera on his phone, snapping a quick picture and forwarding it along to his friend.

_'...you've been naked this whole time?'_

_‘Define ‘this whole time’.’_ Bruce texted.

_'As in since we've been talking.'_

_‘Not the *whole* time. Looking forward to tomorrow?’_

There was a little longer of a pause before his phone vibrated again, _'I'll be there by seven thirty.'_


	55. Chapter 55

Tony paused at the front door briefly before pushing the doorbell with the index finger of his free hand. The other was holding a half-consumed can of Red Bull he’d picked up beforehand at the local convenience store. If he managed his time well enough he could definitely pull this off. He had a light, long sleeve tee on under his coat, and a uniform shirt and non-slip sneakers (just in case Sal had him running gofer work in the kitchen during down time) in the ‘stang. As soon as he got to the pizza parlor, he could just quick-change in the employee bathroom. Satisfied once again with his plan after reviewing it in his head, he put on a big smile and waited for the door to open.

Bruce answered a few seconds later, still in his bedclothes and rubbing one eye. That and his bed head and lack of glasses seemed to suggest that he’d literally just risen. He grinned at Tony nonetheless. “Hey, didn’t think you’d meant it.”

Tony cocked an eyebrow, "Since when do I ever say something and not mean it?"

“It’s just… it’s actually _seven-thirty_ ,” Bruce got out with a sleepy laugh; he’d read the blurry kitchen stove display on the way to the door. He reached out to pull Tony into a hug inside the foyer.

"If you're too tired to greet me, I'd be more than happy to escort you back to your sleeping quarters, and then maybe _into_ said sleeping quarters... possibly into _closer_ quarters..." Tony replied in a hushed tone.

The boy hummed. “Yeah. Let’s do that…” he nuzzled his face into his friend’s neck with affectionate sleep-deprived clinginess.

"Great. Where's your folks?" Tony added conspiratorially. He could probably guess they weren’t up with the way Bruce was acting, but better to ask.

“Mom and Dad are sleeping in. Probably be up in an hour or so,” Bruce said as Tony stepped away to close the door and drop off his unfinished beverage in the fridge. It was okay if he ended up forgetting it and leaving it there anyway since he was kind of pushing it with his caffeine intake recently. But his new meds had really been doing wonders on that front. “Bathroom quick,” Bruce mumbled and Tony chuckled.

“Yeah, okay.” He waited outside the bathroom door, arms and ankles crossed as the big guy took his morning leak. When he re-emerged, the two made their way the rest of the way down the hall, turning into his bedroom. Bruce closed the door and flopped into bed, pulling the other teen halfway in with him by the hand.

“Hold up a sec,” Tony found himself laughing at the big guy’s forgetfulness as he quickly toed off his shoes and shrugged his coat to the floor. “There,” he established, slipping in beside him underneath the still-warm blankets. Bruce murmured indistinctly but happily, wrapping his arms around him to pull him close. There was that anaconda-like grip again. Big guy must not have been lying when he’d said he missed him. Not that he hadn’t been missing Bruce as well, but there wasn’t much time to dwell on it when he was darting around town delivering guaranteed-hot pizzas. "You're warm..." he mumbled into the crook of the other boy's shoulder, “Like, really warm. This level of comfort _has_ to be illegal."

Bruce managed a fuzzy, “Mmm.” face peaceful and utterly content.

Tony chuckled. Unlike his drowsy friend, he was wired on energy drink. And while it was toasty warm under the covers, he was willing to bet Bruce was even warmer on the inside. The thought quickly had him at pert attention. He caught the other teen’s lips before asking in a half-whisper, “Any chance you wanna screw around?”

Bruce’s eyelids fluttered open to give Tony a sleepy, but pervy smile. “Uh huh.”

“On your back,” Tony asserted, giving a light push to his chest; Bruce rolled and he followed, staying in tight proximity. His mouth searched out the pulse point on the big guy’s neck as his hands made a detour lower, gradually working off his partner’s bed bottoms. Bruce’s reactions were dulled, but the little crease between his eyes formed as Tony slid a palm up the inside of his thigh, thumb roving the junction between ass and thigh. Oh yeah... he was gonna be warm alright. Tony’s skin tingled in anticipation. “Just a sec,” he breathed out against his left ear. He moved to reach for the drawer.

Bruce latched on to his midsection, preventing him from getting even half a foot. “Where’re you going?” he asked muddledly.

“I said ‘just a sec’,” Tony reiterated.

“Oh. Sorry,” the teen mumbled, grip laxing.

Tony chuckled. How zonked _was_ Bruce that he’d missed that? He nabbed a condom and the lubricant out of the desk and turtled back into the blankets, pulling them up the few inches they’d slipped down to envelop the both of them once more. “Alright. Got it,” he said.

Bruce smiled and looped his arms around his friend’s neck, kissing him. “Good,” he answered. “Now keep going.”

“Happily,” Tony grinned. He propped himself on his knees and an arm and lifted enough to lower his fly and slip his erection out. He tucked his tongue into the corner of his mouth as he coaxed his foreskin back to expose the glans. With a hand and his front teeth he then tore the condom packet open and pinched the prophylactic between thumb and forefinger to shake the wrapper off and to the floor. Bruce wiggled his hips to get more comfy, which was all kinds of distracting in its own way as Tony rolled the rubber down his shaft and went for the lube next.

When he’d finished preparing, he leaned down again. “Ready…?” he purred, pressing quick kisses up his jaw.

“Yeah,” Bruce replied, diving both hands into Tony’s hair to kiss him on the mouth.

“Okay,” Tony vocalized, feeling his ardor rise to a new peak. He positioned himself at the other boy’s entrance and pushed forward with his hips, pulling his guiding hand away once he’d submerged the first couple inches necessary to keep from slipping out. Then he put both hands on Bruce’s shoulders and brought himself flush.

The big guy let out a lengthy groan, his fingers sliding down Tony’s clothed back and clutching the fabric. Their recent lack of intimacy made this that much more intense and he relaxed into the penetration, scooting his feet to hook his ankles into the backs of his partner’s knees. Tony stayed still a long moment, soaking up the sensation of the heat around his cock before appreciating anything else. Then he pulled back his hips and began a slow rhythm.

Soft noises of pleasure left Bruce’s lips with each in-stroke. Gradually the sleepiness was leaving his brain, replaced by awareness, and his hands continued to roam his friend’s back. Tony was kind of taking his time for once and it felt really, really good. Like had-to-be-dreaming good. He reached his hand forward to run it along the other teen’s jaw and over his goatee to prove to himself that Tony was there; it elicited a smirk. An odd thought crossed his mind and he ventured a question. “So if…” he paused and corrected, “ _when_ we start dating… are you gonna want me to use terms of endearment like ‘hon’?”

Tony’s eyes widened momentarily, hips faltering. "I'm kind of partial to 'babe' myself," he grunted out, beginning anew and trying not to betray the excitement the statement filled him with, "but the subject is up for debate." He wondered if the fact that they hadn’t ‘shared a bed’ since Monday night had anything to do with Bruce bringing this up, and with Bruce agreeing to a movie outing. A little time apart might’ve been just the push the big guy needed to stop thinking of them in terms of friends and start thinking of them in terms of _boy_ friends...

“You’re gonna call me ‘babe’?” Bruce chuckled, a little amused but it surprised him how little he was against hearing said word out of his partner’s mouth in reference to him.

"Maybe. If you like it. Or hate it," Tony teased.

“Guess I like it,” Bruce admitted, rubbing his palms along the other boy’s shoulders. It was possible if he just… _eased_ himself into this, got used to it little by little, maybe he could do this. Like easing into a hot tub that felt at first like it might scald you but was comfortable once you stayed in it for a couple minutes.

Tony chuckled, leaning in for a brief kiss, "Good, because I think it might be growing on me already." He rolled his hips eagerly, letting out his own subtle groan of enjoyment.

Bruce hummed, deciding to give it a little trial run. Might be a little weird at first, but in their current configuration, all tangled up in one another, it’d feel less weird than it would anywhere else. And it was easy enough to abstain in the case that it didn’t work out. He looped his arms back around Tony’s neck to pull himself up enough to murmur into the other’s ear. “God, that feels good, hon, keep going…”

‘Hon’ sounded a little old to Tony's ears, but in its own way it was one of the hottest things he'd heard in a long time. "Mmm, yeah... I think I could get used to that..." he grinned, rolling his hips into the other teen with increased fervor. The continual movement and heat under the blanket were starting to prickle sweat up in his hairline and under his arms. He reached down to slide his hand around Bruce’s cock, beginning to stroke. “Come on, Bruce, cum for me, babe,” he returned, a little growl in his throat.

The high schooler’s spine arched at the additional stimulation, exhaling a groan. He combed his hands through Tony’s hair rapidly… repeatedly. “I’m going to soon...” he revealed, his body tight.

"Ah, yeah, just go for it. Let it go, babe; I'm almost there too, don't worry..." Tony panted out, never breaking the steady increasing rhythm of his hand and hips.

He usually wasn’t far behind in this situation. Bruce exhaled a hiss at the repetition of the pet name and slid his eyes shut to focus on the pleasure spearing through him. His fingers squeezed into Tony’s shoulders. “I-I’m…” he got out unsteadily, “Ah!” His head fell back as orgasm washed over him in a rush, pushing his hips up and spilling out between Tony’s fingers.

Tony’s hips slowed to a halt and he watched with his lip pinched between his top and bottom teeth. It was satisfying as Hell making the big guy cum like this and the look on his face would be a nice memory to carry with him to work later during a lull. His lips twisted into a smirk again as he squeezed lightly into the shaft of his partner’s cock, urging the last of the jism from it to pool on his bed shirt. Bruce groaned, his eyelids fluttering. He looked ready to fall back asleep; Tony held back a laugh, instead lowering to place a quick kiss on the other boy’s lips. “I’m gonna finish, ‘kay?”

Bruce hummed. “Uh huh.”

“Great.” Tony returned his attention to thrusting in and out. Almost immediately he felt his peak draw near again and a whine escaped his throat as his knees sought out traction on the mattress to thrust harder. Bruce let his knees fall further apart; Tony shifted to take advantage of it, his motions growing shorter, snappier. At last he exclaimed and forced his hips forward, shuddering with climax.

After a moment, Tony drew back, biting his bottom lip again as he removed the used rubber and knotted it. “Babe, that was phenomenal.”

Bruce looked up at him almost skeptically. He reached up and yanked Tony’s ear, “I’m supposed to be saying that, and don’t over-do it. We’re not dating yet.” At least, not until the movie...

“ _Yow!_ Okay okay!” the billionaire rubbed his ear with a wince. He smirked, poking the hornet’s nest just once more, “Jeez, babe.”

He ducked the swat aimed for his head and tackled his mouth back down on Bruce’s.

\--

The two of them emerged from the bedroom around 8:30 after napping for a bit longer. Bruce had changed into his day clothes. They wandered out to the kitchen; Tony had already eaten prior to leaving his house so he wasn’t hungry, but Bruce went for the pantry, scrounging for the box of Mini Wheats. His mom and dad were up, having coffee, the latter reading the newspaper and the former doing the crossword.

“Tony, darling, it’s so good to see you again,” Mrs. Banner greeted upon looking up from her puzzle.

Mr. Banner rustled his newspaper but didn’t seek eye-contact. “Good morning, Anthony. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Tony replied, taking a slow step back nervously, “Didn’t want to wake anyone up.”

“Quite alright,” the man returned.

“Tony, would you like anything for breakfast?” Mrs. Banner offered, noticing the teen was just kind of standing in the kitchen while her son poured himself a bowl of cereal.

“Already ate, thanks, Mrs. B,” Tony answered sheepishly, opening the fridge door and retrieving his can, “I did leave a Red Bull in here to chill, though; hope you don’t mind.”

“Have somewhere to be this afternoon?” Brian guessed, taking a drink of his own caffeinated beverage of choice.

“Uh… yeah.” He shot the older man an almost pleading look, but try as he might, it couldn’t penetrate the newspaper he was currently reading.

Bruce’s nose wrinkled as he poured milk over his cereal. He hadn’t actually asked Tony why he had to duck out early; he was pretty sure he’d just get the same bullshit answer anyway. ‘Project’. He snorted as he put the milk jug away and went to take a seat at the table with his parents.

Tony knew he had to say something before one of them asked the wrong question and the truth came out. He needed something simple, but important sounding. Something that nobody would feel comfortable prying into but wasn’t insanely embarrassing… Shit, that eliminated pretty much everything...

“Female protagonist of the Hunger Games…” Rebecca mused, tapping her pen against the newsprint as she cogitated 22-Across. “Bruce, honey, do you know that one?” The boy shook his head; that was a book he hadn’t gotten to yet.

Oh thank God, a distraction. “Clint Barton!” Tony blurted out, earning a snort from Bruce.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Mrs. Banner asked.

“My mistake. Katniss Everdeen,” Tony corrected out loud, forcing down a snicker, “That’s Katniss with a ‘K’. Pepper couldn’t stop talking about that series once she finished it. She wants to drag me to the movie when it comes out in March. I’ll probably go cuz Jennifer Lawrence was awesome in the Silver Linings Playbook.”

“Everything has to be made into a movie nowadays,” Bruce rolled his eyes. People were too lazy to pick up a book and read it, but having a cinematic synopsis beamed into their brains through their eye sockets was apparently another matter. He was aware this went for the movie he and Tony were going to go see as well, but so what? That didn’t mean he couldn’t look forward to it. He moved about in his chair.

“Hey, nothing wrong with movies based on books when you get it right,” Tony said defensively as he settled down into his chair, “...the exception being anything based off a Dr. Seuss book. That right there flies in the face of the good doctor’s intentions.”

Bruce could sense when his friend was starting to get worked up about things. “Whimsical anapaestic-metered nonsense?” he needled, adjusting his glasses.

“No,” Tony argued, almost pouting, “Unlike J.K. Rowling or that Twilight lady, Theodor Geisel wrote his books _specifically_ to combat childhood illiteracy, by making books that were fun to read. If Ron Howard _really_ loved his children he would have left those books alone and made his _own_ kids’ movies.”

Bruce ventured a comment, “How do you feel about the cartoon adaptations from the 60’s and 70’s? You could argue he sold out.”

“Well, I suppose you could, but the cartoon adaptations didn’t take as many creative liberties as the live action films have,” Tony countered, taking another sip of his Red Bull.

“They were more faithful to the source material, yeah,” Bruce agreed, “but you can’t say they contributed to literacy at that point. It’s still just moving pictures on a TV screen, played out to nursery rhymes.”

“I most certainly _can_ argue that they contributed more to literacy than the live action films did,” Tony shot back. “How the Grinch Stole Christmas, for example, looks the same and plays out the same way in book form as it does in the cartoon adaptation. You can give a kid the book and they won’t feel like they’re missing anything. The Ron Howard film, however, gives us an extra hour and a half of narrative padding, backstory and dialogue that wasn’t in the book. It’s like a reward for laziness.” Tony scoffed, “The only way to trick a kid into reading with that is to put on subtitles. Even then, eventually Pavlov won’t even have to ring the bell to get the kids to come to the movies.”

“Which returns to my point about books being made into movies,” Bruce said.

“Goodness, you boys are certainly spirited this morning,” Mrs. Banner interjected with a laugh.

Brian lifted his nose above his paper. “Let them debate, Rebecca. It’s good for them to exercise their minds.”

The woman reached out and pat Tony on the hand, “Don’t worry, dear, Bruce used to love it when I read him One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish.” Tony snickered.

Bruce felt a little embarrassed that in the midst of it all, he’d practically forgotten his parents were at the table with them. He cleared his throat and went back to eating.

“Sorry, guess I got carried away,” Tony chuckled nervously, “Pepper keeps telling us we need to be more aware of where we are when we slip into Lincoln-Douglas mode.”

“Is this ‘Pepper’ a romantic interest of yours?” Mr. Banner asked. The name sounded familiar to him.

“Ahh…” Tony resisted the urge to look Bruce’s way, “She’s uhh--”

“Tony and Pepper haven’t been dating for awhile,” Bruce answered the question for him matter-of-factly before popping another spoonful into his mouth and crunching the semi-soggy morsels. So maybe there was still a little residual jealousy there.

Rebecca giggled privately to herself and filled in another answer.

“Yeah, we’re still friends though,” Tony followed up. Was it just his imagination, or had Bruce sounded almost proud to correct his father on that subject?

“Anthony,” Brian folded the paper and tucked it under an arm, his voice firm and leaving little for wiggle-room, “I wonder if you would allow me to have a word with you in private?”

Bruce’s mouth stopped chewing completely, and he nearly dropped his spoon. What exactly could his father want to talk to _Tony_ about??

Tony’s head reflexively turned to look to Bruce, as if he was expecting some kind of direction or consent. He corrected the action almost immediately, hoping to avoid any sort of suspicion. While he was a good deal more able to give Mr. Banner the benefit of the doubt than Bruce was in recent circumstances, he wasn’t sure whether he felt safe or comfortable with the other man in a private setting. Still, it would make for a good opportunity to ask that the vow of secrecy he’d made the other night extend both ways, “Uh, yeah. That’s fine.” He drained the rest of his can and quickly crunched it, “Where to?”

“Up to my study, boy,” Brian chose an affable term as he waved the teen towards the stairs with the newspaper and his other hand.

Tony nodded, trying not to remind himself that the last time he’d been in that study it had been when Bruce had asked him to help break in. Not to mention Bruce had had some sort of psychotic break, overturned a desk, and broke a tumbler glass which he wasn’t sure they’d managed to find all the pieces of.

_‘There's also that gun we found in his desk…’_ Tony’s eyes widened, just now remembering, _‘Oh shit, he has a_ gun. _What the Hell am I doing? Okay, okay calm down, he’s not bringing you up to your study to shoot you, idiot. Too many witnesses, for one,’_ he joked morbidly to himself. _‘But if this has anything to do with what Bruce and I did…’_

“Step inside,” Mr. Banner motioned.

Tony nodded embarrassedly, realizing he was lingering in the doorframe. He stepped through the threshold and tried not to eyeball the floor for scuffs. He knew there weren’t any when they had cleaned up, and he needed to curb his paranoia before it gave him away. He stopped a few feet away from the man’s desk, letting his eyes wander a little to give off the impression that he’d never been there before. “Uh… It’s a nice room, sir,” he tried lamely.

“A good place to eschew myself time to time,” Mr. Banner answered as he shut the door to the study and went to sit down behind his desk. He didn’t invite his son’s friend to sit down, regarding the high schooler in front of him with a look of seriousness. “Anthony, you are my son’s closest friend.”

“Uh, yeah. I’d say so,” Tony replied, still not sure where this was going, but bright enough to know that this wasn’t the time or place to explain exactly how close they really were.

“I can only imagine that he speaks to you in good confidence in many regards,” Brian went on.

Still no idea where this was going. Tony shrugged and continued to tread carefully, “I… well, I _guess_ so.”

“Anthony,” the man sat back in his chair, trying to project a more casual air, “I wish to know if my son has been smoking.” Tony tensed, clenching his fists as his back went rigid almost immediately. His mouth opened to deny the accusation, but nothing came out, resulting in nothing but a distorted look of shock and confusion. Brian waited, but the boy wasn’t answering. He sighed a bit and continued, “I can assure you he’s not in any trouble. I merely desire to know.”

Tony bit his lip. Mr. Banner could be lying, just to convince Tony to bury his son. Telling the truth right now could undoubtedly make things worse for the both of them. He didn’t have Bruce here to serve as a second opinion or moral compass, and it was more unnerving than he would have expected. What would Bruce do in this position? Or a similar one? he asked himself. Well, when the two of them had been pulled over on New Years, Bruce had been the one to crack and blow the whistle. It hadn’t been the safe way, but it had been the right way. Yeah, Bruce would understand. “Okay, yes. He has,” Tony swallowed, correcting himself eyes fixating on the hardwood floor beneath him, “ _We_ have.”

“I see,” Brian hmm’d deeply at the information; he didn’t feel he had to ask whether or not it had been Tony that had introduced his boy to it. It was quite clear he wasn’t pleased from the hard lines grooving his face, but he was calm and collected. The man followed with another inquiry. “Do you have any idea why he’s chosen to take up the habit?”

Tony cleared his throat. He hadn’t really put much thought into the cause. Why had this been the year that his smoking had slipped from just an annual ritual and into a full-blown habit? He scratched the back of his neck, “Stress, I guess? I know Bruce has problems calming down. But I’m-- It’s been a really complicated year for me. A lot of good things, a lot of bad things, and a lot of changes. I’m not used to it, and it kind of… I dunno. It freaks me out.”

Brian ignored the majority of the boy’s glibbering. “I did not know that Bruce had difficulty with stress,” he thought aloud. He tapped his forefinger on the desk. “I seem to not know much about the boy.” He drew in a deep breath and slowly let it back out. First drinking, now smoking. It would indeed seem his son was turning into ‘the same monster’ he was… hiding problems behind vices. “And I would suppose that I am at the root of some of this anxiety you speak of.”

Tony didn’t know if he could answer that question, whether he even wanted to, “I’m… I’m not sure how to answer that, sir.”

“No need,” Mr. Banner seemed to come out of his rumination, “You may return to spending the remainder of your visit with Bruce. Thank you for being honest with me, Anthony,” he nodded with gruff sincerity.

“Uhh… you’re welcome, sir,” Tony nodded hesitantly and took that as his cue to leave. He paused briefly in the doorway, remembering the other reason he agreed to come up to this room in the first place, “Oh, Mr. Banner?”

“Hm? Yes, Anthony?”

“I hope you don’t mind keeping my employment status between the two of us. I don’t really want Bruce to know yet if he doesn’t have to.” Tony bit his lip. Well if that didn’t make him sound suspicious. He cleared his throat, “I'm not embarrassed or anything. I’m just saving my money for something to surprise him later,” he admitted, trying to put up a decent poker face and likely failing. Though that might just have been some residual paranoia talking.

Brian lifted an eyebrow at this but nodded acquiescingly. “I shall see it remains such. I believe you should be applauded for taking up employment at all, considering your father’s deep purse. Were I Howard, I would be quite proud.”

“Well, um, thanks, Mr. Banner,” Tony nodded. For once it wasn’t a stretch to take the man’s statement as a compliment. He flashed a brief but awkward smile, disappearing through the doorway and descending the steps. That had been an interesting experience if nothing else. Now the only remaining question was was his heart hammering from residual anxiousness over the encounter or too much caffeine? Had to be the former. He thudded his chest a couple times and ignored it.

\--

The end credits of another episode of Futurama rolled and Tony peeked at the time displayed on his phone. “Ah, I should probably get going…” he spoke up, gently nudging his friend. As much fun as they’d been having re-watching the earlier episodes of the series and quoting their favorite lines, he did have work to be at in twenty minutes.

Bruce lifted the television remote to pause the DVD, almost instantly looking down at the mouth, though he tried to hide it. “Do you really have to go?” he asked.

“Afraid so. Sorry, big guy.” He stood up and rounded the couch. “I’ll make it up to you later though, I promise.” He hoped. Work had run him so ragged last week that he’d fallen into bed nearly the moment he’d arrived home each night. Surely this coming week he’d catch his stride and they’d be able to hang out after work/JC, no problem. He ruffled the other teen’s hair and headed back to the bedroom for his coat and sneakers.

Bruce wet his lips. “Yeah, okay,” he mumbled unconvincedly. He ejected the disc from the DVD player and put it away.

Tony returned, making a bee-line for the fridge. “This them?” he asked, holding up the tupperware container containing the night prior’s leftovers.

“Yeah, those’re them,” Bruce answered.

“Cool. I’ll get the tupperware back to you Monday at school,” Tony nodded.

“Or I could swing by Monday night and get it then,” Bruce suggested alternatively.

Tony shook his head. “Still stuck tutoring that night. Probably will be the rest of the semester if Fury gets his way.”

“Okay, well, what about Tuesday after I’m done with JC?” Bruce tossed out next.

The billionaire’s son swallowed uncomfortably. “Actually, I’m working that night.” A pause. “On my project,” he hurriedly clarified. “I mean, I might have a little time, but I’m not sure yet. Sorry,” he tacked on for sincerity.

“It’s fine,” Bruce lied. Tony nibbled his lip a little before moving for the door; the big guy followed.

“Uh, so, I guess I’ll catch you later,” he said, turning on the stoop to give his friend a wave as he continued walking backwards. “It was fun.”

“Hold up,” Bruce stopped him.

Tony stopped, but not without a little visible impatience. He did have only a few minutes to get to the pizza parlor and get changed. “What is it, Bruce?”

“I still need my ID,” the boy explained.

Damn it. Tony’s nose wrinkled. After his and Mr. Banner’s discussion, he’d been hoping Bruce might forget about that. He put on a quick face. “Oh, yeah, right, of course.” He reached into his back pocket and flipped open his wallet. “Yeah, here you go,” he held the plastic card out to the other teen as nonchalantly as possible.

“Thanks,” Bruce took it, leaning in to place a kiss on his temple.

“Don’t mention it,” Tony dismissed, words left hesitated on his tongue. God, he hoped Bruce wouldn’t be angry at him for saying this. “Just, you know, try to limit your consumption… and… well, be careful and stuff, okay…?”

Bruce avoided his gaze guiltily. “I’ll try.”

Tony frowned and clicked his tongue at his friend’s dour demeanor. He seized him by the shoulders and drew him into a forceful kiss. By the time he pulled back, a smile was worming around at the edges of Bruce’s mouth. “That’s better,” Tony commented. “I don’t want to have to start reminding you to smile more again. But don’t think I won’t,” he stuck out his forefinger reprimandingly.

The big guy chuckled. “Sorry. I’m just gonna miss you.”

“Just bury that nose of yours in homework and it’ll seem like we’re back together in a jiffy,” Tony teased. He moved for his ‘stang. “Later, okay?”

Bruce caught his arm and Tony questioned if he would make it to work at all at this rate. He was about to say he really had to get going when the other teen’s mouth connected with his again. “Thanks for coming,” Bruce murmured.

Tony snorted. “I could say the same thing to you,” he delivered the dirty joke. His eyes softened and his voice dropped a few decibels as he continued, "Love you." It was an easier goodbye on the other teen than just saying it outright, he hoped. Plus it had been a while since either had said as much face to face.

Bruce chuckled. “Love you too.” He reached up to brush hair out of his face. He’d really neglected it too long.

Tony nodded, taking the handful of steps required to separate them and pulling the car door open with a conflicted shake of his head. Work was eating up more time than he’d imagined and so far Bruce wasn’t handling it well. He'd have to be blind not to see that after today. Tony plopped into the driver’s seat, setting the container down in the passenger seat and jamming the keys in the ignition. He was probably going to be late for his shift, but with any luck he'd make enough in tips and extra shifts to come clean in about a month.

Bruce would just have to wait that long.


	56. Chapter 56

“Steve picked up a copy of the newest Call of Duty game. Black Ops 2? I don’t know; there are too fucking many of them and he has literally every one.”

Bruce wasn’t listening much to his friend’s chatter. He felt his eyes scan across the cafeteria again. His vision might not be great, even corrected, but at least _one_ of his ears worked just fine and it was confirming the same thing. No Barton for a whole week running. Tony had complained the archer ended up being a no-show for their little Quentin Tarantino fanboys convention Friday evening. Really, it shouldn’t be any of his concern, but Bruce found himself thinking about it anyway.

He set down his plastic fork. “Hey, Tony? Is it okay if I catch you later?”

“Yeah, you okay?” Tony asked after a spoonful of yogurt, a little surprised.

“I’m fine. Just something I remembered I need to take care of.”

“Cool. Yeah, I’ll catch you later then,” he replied, scraping along the insides of the container for another spoonful.

Bruce threw out what was left of his meal and exited the lunch room. Now the only question was where he’d find the archer. He could literally be anywhere on the school grounds. He’d made a point of proving that, the most notable example being when he climbed up onto the football scoreboard at halftime. Bruce hummed. If he was Clint and didn’t want to be found, where would he be? Well, obviously, somewhere high, that was a given. But more specific than that. He’d probably be somewhere that if he _were_ found, he’d be in trouble for having been there. Bruce snapped his fingers. The gym rooftop. After Tony’s little fireworks display, it had been blocked off to prevent all access while the school custodians could clean it up. He hurried out of the building and in the direction of the gymnasium.

Bruce stepped out into the basketball court and lifted his hand up to shield his eyes against the sun. Up high on the roof was Barton. Great, he’d found him. That hadn’t been so difficult after all. The boy licked his lips and glanced around. Now, how the Hell was he going to get up there? Even better question, how had Barton, mending leg and all, managed to scale the gym in the first place? He walked around the back of the large building, and then he found it. There was a drainage pipe that went all the way from the eaves down to the ground and it hung just a little ways out from the wall, just enough to stick your fingers into, thanks to general disrepair. It wasn’t going to be an easy climb, but it was do-able. Bruce rolled up his cuffs to the elbow and rubbed his hands together, mentally reassuring himself they had traction sufficient for what he was about to do.

He hooked his fingers behind the squarish metal pipe and leaned back to put his feet flat against the wall. He wasn’t slipping, so he reached up with one hand, following it up with a step with the leg diametrically opposed to it. Successfully a whole five feet off the ground now, Bruce squared his jaw and repeated the motion with his other limbs. He set into a rhythm, and before he knew it, he’d reached the top of the gymnasium, hauling himself up and over the ledge. He stayed still a moment to just catch his breath before standing and proceeding over to where Barton was seated.

“You didn’t strike me as much of a parkour guy,” Clint muttered indifferently, eyes still fixed blankly on the horizon.

“Regarded it more as a logic puzzle,” Bruce offered as he approached.

“Well wouldn’t it be a bitch if I told you your princess was in another castle?” Clint turned his head to wise-crack back over his shoulder.

Bruce felt himself chuckle gently. “Is it okay if I sit here?” he repeated the words that Clint had when he’d approached him in the lunchroom a week ago.

“Do what you want,” Clint grumbled out, but the boy moved his crutches to make room before folding his arms.

Bruce took that as permission enough. He very carefully placed himself on the rooftop’s edge, specifically on the archer’s left so his currently good ear was towards him, and let his feet dangle over like Clint’s. He tried to ignore just how far the drop was and resisted the urge to math out what the force of impact would be were he to fall.

“I’m not mad, and I’m not gonna tell anybody, alright?” Clint spat out suddenly, “The thing is, I said all that stuff, and now feel like such an idiot and I just fucking hate it. And seriously man, fuck lunch anyway. I’m not hungry and I’m just not meant to be around people. I mean, even ‘Tasha apparently fucked off for good, which means I’m not even good enough for the one girl that could handle my bullshit. Maybe no matter what I do I’m just meant to be the clown that everybody stares at when he’s doing something funny. It’s all I’ve ever been good at anyway.”

Bruce hummed, not sure what to the tell the other boy about his plight.

“Sorry you had to hear all that,” Clint grumbled, “I guess I’m not as well-adjusted as I thought.”

“I think that goes without saying for guys like us,” Bruce stated with an odd sentimentality. He held up his right arm, pointing to the scar on his forearm. “Dad,” he said. He then pulled up his pant leg to show off another on his shin. “Dad.” And lastly, he had to untuck his shirt a bit to show the last one on his back, near the kidney. “And Dad again.”

Clint choked out a muted chuckle, “You know you didn’t have to.”

Bruce just shrugged. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

“Yeah, well thanks,” Barton’s gaze returned to the horizon.

“Sure,” the boy nodded. And the two slipped into a reconcilatory silence.

After a few minutes Clint shifted, eliciting an audible gurgle from his stomach. "Hey, I know I kind of said ‘fuck lunch’ earlier, but you wouldn't happen to have brought any food with you, by any chance?"

“Sorry, I didn’t,” Bruce apologized. He studied the skyline again. “So, what happened to you on Friday?” Bruce brought up casually, “Tony was disappointed you couldn’t make it.”

Clint shrugged, “A lot of reasons. In case you showed up. In case he asked any questions. Plus, I…” Clint inhaled deep, not sure if he should continue, “I heard your guys’ argument…” He shook his head. “I-It’s not like I was eavesdropping or anything. I just can’t turn ‘em off,” he added defensively, rubbing an ear.

“Oh,” Bruce vocalized. “Well, um… sorry.” He couldn’t remember everything that had been said during that altercation of his and Tony’s, but he was fairly certain he hadn’t spoken well of the teen sitting beside him.

“Nah, it’s okay,” Clint shrugged again, “You guys have a good thing going for you. I guess I felt selfish for almost breaking it up.”

Bruce hummed. “Yeah. I don’t know. Tony still doesn’t realize it’s kind of difficult for me to come ‘out of my shell’. And I guess I don’t realize it doesn’t have to be a bad thing if I do.”

“You’d be surprised to know how many people in this school are almost as fucked up as we are,” Barton snorted, pointing to his ear as if he needed to explain how he came across this information, “For serious though, I don’t think anybody _really_ has their shit together. My therapist says ‘being uncomfortable is just part of life’, and ‘learning to deal is part of growing up’. If that ain’t a bum rap.”

“Hmm…” Bruce mused, noting this was the second time Barton was mentioning his therapist. He wondered if maybe he shouldn’t see one of his own, just to see if it _could_ do him some good.

The other boy pulled his phone out of his pocket and quickly turned it around, snapping a photo of the two of them. He then turned it back to front and began typing.

“What are you…?” Bruce began to ask, leaning over to spy a glance at Barton’s screen. Twitter.

_‘@WestmoreHS Chillin’ on the roof with my homeslice, Banner. #coolerthanu #skippedlunch’_

“You cool?” Clint asked, almost as a second thought as his thumb hovered over the publish button, “I mean ‘cuz there was this one guy I knew who freaked out when he got caught in one of the pics I took. I thought he was just being overdramatic, but turns out the guy had photogophobia-- that’s, like, an actual thing apparently-- and he was having a panic attack.” He paused a second when he realized he probably should have asked _before_ taking the picture, “You don’t have that, right?”

“No, I… don’t have that,” Bruce let out a gentle chuckle.

“Sweet,” Clint replied, publishing the tweet, “Can’t have you throwing a wrench in my selfie game.”

\--

“I still can’t believe you cut it so _short!”_ Tony exclaimed for what felt like the thousandth time as Bruce and he followed what was most of the rest of the student body down the hall and out the main entrance. The teen was like a dog with a bone. Tony snorted, “I mean holy shit, you have _ears_ now.”

“Is that bad?” Bruce asked uncomfortably, made more self-conscious by his friend’s belaborment of the point.

“No, no, don’t get me wrong; it’s not bad, it’s just… well, it’s just _so_ short.” For as long as he’d known Bruce (which truth be told, felt longer than it had been), the guy had always sported the same curly mop of hair. Seeing him any other way was mildly unsettling. He stopped in his tracks. “Okay, you know what? Hold on a sec,” Tony said, clapping his hands on his friend’s shoulders and squaring them so Bruce was directly facing him. This had to be done. Getting hands-on was the only way to come to terms with the change. “Eyes on me, face forward,” he instructed.

“I don’t-- what are you doing?” Bruce stumbled out in confusion.

“Shhh!” Tony interrupted, eyebrows drawing together in mild concentration as he slowly let go of Bruce’s shoulders, making a minor adjustment to the positioning of the big guy’s head, “I just wanna try something...”

“But what are you trying?” Bruce asked, not understanding why Tony couldn’t just explain what he was up to. He held still begrudgingly.

Tony paid his friend’s questioning no mind as he placed the fingertips of both hands on either side of Bruce’s head. For a breath, he let them rest on his temples without dipping into his hairline. After a moment more of contemplation, he let out a soft sigh through his nose and slid his fingers slowly through his friend’s much shorter locks, fingertips just grazing the scalp before meeting at the base of the neck. They didn’t stay there long, fanning and raking their way back over the crown and tangling themselves as best as they could.

A shiver coursed down Bruce’s spine; he gave no further protestation. Tony’s fingertips continued to rub circles into his scalp, massaging. He murmured, eyes sliding shut, savoring the affectionate touch he’d gotten too little of recently. His hands planted themselves on the other teen’s hips. His murmur became a low purr as Tony’s fingers transitioned into a light scratch of short nails.

Tony gave his own hum of satisfaction, dragging his palms back down to cup Bruce’s chin, “Well it’ll be a while yet before I can get a good handful again, but I think I can get used to this.”

Bruce chuckled shyly. “So, it’s okay then?”

Tony chuckled warmly and kissed him. “Yeah, you’ll make it work; besides, it’s not like it doesn’t grow back,” Tony remarked, snapping his fingers as an idea struck him almost immediately, “Right! Remind me to let you borrow some of my gel when that grows out a bit on top. It’s good stuff; doesn’t get crunchy or flakey, but holds.”

“Sure,” Bruce answered, somewhat amused. He’d done it to cut down on maintenance, not the other way round, but Tony wouldn’t understand that. They continued down the steps; Tony with a good deal more zeal than him. Like he had somewhere to be. Bruce hesitated unhappily as he looked over the parking lot. “So, are you…?” he trailed off, ‘busy’ kind of implicit as it had become his usual question after school let out and they parted ways.

Tony bit his lip, exhaling through his nose. How long would his luck hold out before Bruce started getting suspicious? If he kept his job a secret much longer he couldn’t be sure Bruce would react pleasantly, even with his reasoning explained. It was aggravating enough, with his habit for gloating, that he had nobody but Thor to share work stories with. And oh Hell, did he have those in spades. Besides the enthusiastic blond and maybe one or two servers, Tony was one of the only people who managed to impress the boss.

For instance, he was practically itching to tell his friend how pleased Mr. Mancini had been with his performance the first two weeks, especially compared to the guy who’d been hired the same week he had. Kenny… something. Not only had the dumbass not shown up for the last three shifts, but he was also prone to colorful arguments with his girlfriend in front of the customers on his down time. It was only a matter of time before he got the boot and Tony and Thor were left to split up the extra hours. Or, at least, that’s what the two were hoping for. Maybe if he got there early today he and Thor could corner Mr. Mancini and formally put their names in the hat. It’s not like it was any secret the other guy was living on borrowed time. Wow, it was kind of scary how into this whole ‘being employed’ thing he was getting.

He adjusted how the strap of his backpack was hanging on his shoulder. “No dice. Free tomorrow though.”

“Alright,” Bruce said, acknowledging it was as good as he was liable to get. “See you tomorrow morning and we can make some plans.”

“You bet,” Tony winked with a click of his tongue, moving to take his leave.

“Do I get a kiss goodbye at least?” Bruce called before the other boy could get too far.

Tony stopped in his tracks and coughed, “Shit. Right.” He strode back double-time and planted a peck on Bruce’s lips. “Okay now I seriously have to go,” he urged as he pulled back from the kiss, “Bye.”

“Yeah, bye,” Bruce mumbled out as his friend took off in an almost literal streak. He began to make the slow plod towards his moped.

“Yooo, Banner!”

Bruce turned awkwardly on the curb just in time to see Clint leap from the top of the school’s staired entrance, crutch tips landing first; his whole body swung forward from the momentum before swinging back. He restabilized. “I still got it,” the supposed-to-be-injured teen said to himself as he half-hobbled, half-sprung hurriedly to Bruce’s side.

“Uh... yeah?” Bruce vocalized. Barton had wanted his attention after all.

“Hey, man. Doing anything after school?” Clint looked curious.

Bruce frowned unintentionally out at the parking spot where Tony’s mustang had been. “No. Nothing. I’ve got JC later, but that’s not for a few hours.” Then it occurred to him how odd it was that Barton would be asking. “Why?”

Clint risked a hand off a crutch to nudge him with his elbow almost aggressively. “I thought maybe now that you and I are tight, you might be willing to go paintballing with me. I know this _siiick_ place about twenty minutes from here.”

Bruce’s first question was borne of logic, “You want to go paintballing when you’re still in a cast?”

“Dude, man, this shit’s like body-armor.” The boy rapped his knuckles on the stiff material. “Besides, you’re gonna need the handicap, _truuust_ me.” He thumbed his own chest, “Westmore Archery champ, don’t forget.”

Bruce chuckled lightly. It _would_ be a mistake to underestimate Barton’s dexterity, even in his state of recovery. He paused to actually _consider_ the invitation now. It wasn’t like he’d be missing Tony’s company any more than he was already destined to by going. Going out with Clint would actually probably make the time go a lot faster. Not that he’d ever gone paintballing before. “I guess… ah… I guess I could go… I’d need to go home and change my clothes first...” he ran his fingers through his shortened hair. By the time he looked back to Barton to see why he wasn’t verbally responding, the teen’s cell phone was giving the little bird-like whistle of a submitted tweet. “Did you just…?” Bruce asked with exasperated suspicion.

“Duh,” Clint scoffed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “See now if you back out everyone’s gonna know you stood me up. And I don’t know who does that to a disabled guy. Well, other than ‘Tasha.”

“Disabled persons don’t typically vault down a staircase,” Bruce adjusted his glasses.

“Tch, that was nothing. Just wait ‘til you see me at the paintball range. You’re totally screwed, dude.”

\--

Barton came out from behind his cover. Bruce took aim and pulsed the trigger, but each shot seemed to be just a step behind the other teen. He repositioned, his window of attack growing short. Clint dove and rolled for the obstruction, every well-placed shot on Bruce’s part whizzing over him. For a split instant, Barton was poised, motionless, crouched on one knee. He fired his weapon only once before ducking behind the inflatable cover, faster than should have been humanly possible.

The paintball zinged through the air, impacting Bruce in the shoulder, a splatter of vibrant purple joining several others dotting the long-sleeved jersey. The sting through three layers of clothing still made him hiss slightly, and he took his own shelter, leaning his back into the wooden pallet. One thing was sure, this strategy wasn’t working. He’d been trying to snipe Barton for the past half hour, trying not to get hit himself. The archery champ was too quick and agile to target when he was zipping from point to point. He needed to re-think his tactic if he had any hope of landing a hit on the teen and ending the match (as those were the rules Barton had explicitly set into effect: “Game ends when you manage to nick me or you get sick of me pelting you. Either or.”).

“You give up yet?!” Clint called across the field.

“Not yet!” Bruce called back. He needed to get closer. Much closer. To the point where Barton _couldn’t_ dodge out of the way. Bruce peeked out to gauge the distance from his current location and Barton’s. How long would it take him to close the gap? Six, seven seconds? Well, there was only one good way to find out. He shouldered his weapon.

Bruce pushed to his feet and charged headlong. Clint gave a squawk of both surprise and bafflement at the unexpected move, raising his paintball gun with lightning reflexes. His shots all hit their mark, but Bruce didn’t so much as slow, still barreling towards him. Stumbling backward, Clint continued to fire round after round, but he couldn’t back-pedal fast enough to keep Bruce from gaining on him. And then he tripped.

“Shitshitshit!” he got out just before his back slammed into the ground and the wind was driven out of him. When he’d managed to pull in a breath, Bruce was standing over him, the front of his shirt covered in purple paint, face covered in smug accomplishment. He placed his foot down on his midsection and fired point-blank, causing Clint to yelp and twitch at the direct impact of green paint to his solar plexis.

“Game over,” Bruce stated matter-of-factly.

“Well played, bro,” Clint groaned out, still trying to regain his breath, “Terms of victory?”

Bruce lifted his foot away and extended a hand out. “Photo evidence of my ‘killing blow’ goes up on your Twitter.”

“Aww man,” Clint groaned in response, reaching for Bruce’s hand, “Can’t I just buy you a Coke?”

Bruce pulled his hand back before Barton could take it. “Nope. Phone. Come on, hand it over.” He motioned his hand again at the prone teen.

“Are you serious right now?” Clint bellyached, fishing through his pockets until he found the familiar device and pulled it out. Begrudgingly he handed it over and began to sit up on his own.

“Great,” Bruce took it. “Don’t bother getting up, I want you to stay there,” he instructed as he found his way to the proper app and aimed the camera at the boy lying in the dirt. “Say ‘caw’.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Clint shot back, trying not to snicker.

The shutter sound went off and Bruce tapped at the keypad with his thumbs. “I tagged it ‘Banner’sGotGame’ and ‘JustAFleshWound’,” Bruce informed, dropping the device to safely plop onto Clint’s stomach.

“The Hell does Tony see in you?” Clint chuckled, jamming the device back into his pocket now that Banner had finished thoroughly humiliating him. Bruce actually helped him get up on his feet this time.

“I sometimes wonder that myself,” Bruce answered honestly. They headed back in the direction of the rental shack to return their guns and gear. “I make him put up with a lot,” he admitted, feeling a little self-conscious about the fact.

“Psshhhhh,” Clint put excessive emphasis into holding the sound, continuing to hobble forward, “I’m willing to bet Tony doesn’t put up with _half_ the crap from you as Nat puts up with me.”

Bruce lifted an eyebrow, turning his head to eye up the daredevil teen. Everything had to be a competition with this kid. “What makes you say that?” he asked.

“Well, for one, Nat didn’t stick around,” Clint replied, tone a good deal more aloof than he actually felt about the subject.

“Hm…” Bruce pondered as he carefully removed the paint-coated jersey off his head, displaying an equal amount of care in his pursuit of the current conversation. “Any idea why she…” he motioned his hand to indicate ‘left’, “this time? Aren’t the two of you pretty ah… off-and-on usually?” From his observation, Barton and Romanoff were either inseparable or ‘taking time off’ and there was no inbetween.

“Well yeah, but this time’s different,” Clint argued. He sighed, getting the feeling his new pal wasn’t going to understand without a little extra backstory. “Okay so we went out, right? Everything was cool, and it felt like we were getting back together again. Kinda like we usually do after a fight.”

“But you’re telling me you’re not.”

“Well see, here’s the thing. I don’t know if this is a chick thing or if it’s just her,” the other teen said as he removed his gear as well and placed it in the according bins, “but she got mad because I asked if she wanted to come to the folks’ house for dinner later that week. She asked why, and I told her my folks asked me to bring my girlfriend up since I ‘won’t shut up about her’. So she just kind of stared at me for a few seconds. Then she got up out of her chair, said ‘It’s been fun,’ and walked out. She hasn’t answered any of my texts or calls since, and I don’t even know what I did.”

Bruce cleared away a sudden frog in his throat, developed from the possibility that he knew what Natasha’s ‘problem’ was. “Is there uh… any possibility she doesn’t think of herself as your girlfriend?”

Clint raised an eyebrow, “Dude, not that I don’t appreciate your input, but I don’t think she’s that slow.” He let out a bitter snort, “What the Hell do you call it when two people like each other, spend all their time together, go out places and have bangin’ sex on a regular basis?”

Bruce lapsed into silence.

Clint continued in absence of a response, “Exactly.”

Bruce was thoughtful awhile longer. “Let me ask you a different question.”

“Shoot,” Clint replied, turning for the parking lot.

“If Natasha _is_ your girlfriend, and you’re her boyfriend, like you say, where do you intend for things to go? Do you…” he drug his tongue over his bottom lip slowly, “want to marry her? Have kids?”

Clint winced, clamping a hand down on his side for effect, “Ouch. Bringing out the big guns, Banner.”

“It’s a worthwhile consideration,” Bruce was matter-of-fact.

The archer pondered the question silently for a few steps, “Okay, well, I guess… if she wasn’t totally sick of me in a few years. I mean if she’s dumb enough to stay I might as well buy her a ring someday.” He paused to hop on one of the bumper curbs and walk across it heel to toe as if it were a balance beam, “I mean, the real shit of it is every relationship only ends one of two ways.” He hopped off as he reached the end, nearly losing his balance and toppling over into a nearby parked car before he managed to right himself. “You didn’t see that.”

Bruce watched the disabled teen’s antics, staying quiet a bit longer as if waiting to see if Barton would finish that statement. He pat down his pockets and found his pack of cigarettes, proceeding slowly. “And I suppose a lot of people enter into… a relationship without knowing which of those end results it’s going to come to.” He pushed the flap back to expose the vices for his selection, mind on he and Tony.

Clint raised an incredulous eyebrow, “Uh, _yeah_. This is highschool. Do you really think anyone’s thinking that far ahead?” Clint scoffed again, “Well, except for girls, apparently.”

_‘They’re not the only ones…’_ Bruce thought grimacingly as he perched one of the cigarettes in his mouth and pulled out his matchbook.

“Ah,” Clint croaked out uncomfortably, reeling back slightly before catching himself, “S-sorry; I just forgot that you… M-my bad.” He shifted from good foot to bad foot to good foot again.

“What?” Bruce blinked, then his eyes lowered to the tip of his cigarette. “Oh,” he realized, immediately feeling stupid for not remembering. He yanked it back out of his mouth. “I uh… I don’t have to; I can put it back.”

“No no, man, it’s fine. I just didn’t see it coming.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Bruce insisted, pulling the pack back out to put it away.

“I, uh…” Clint thought about scooting a foot or so away, but didn’t, an impulsive curiosity pushing him to speak, “How many of those have you got?”

He knew the answer, but dropped his gaze down to confirm it. “Nineteen. Got a fresh pack yesterday.”

“Ah,” Clint nodded and set his eyes forward, glancing at the vice between Bruce’s fingers in his peripheral. “Okay,” he sighed out, not sure whether he was actually going to go through with what he was thinking. Most of his ideas were crazy, but this was _crazy_. Crazier than the time he’d agreed to wax play with ‘Tasha. Oh ho ho, had that been a bad one. Bruce slid the unlit cigarette back in among its companions.

Clint bit his lip. “Ah, uh, can I…?” he let the half-question hang in the air, unsure how to continue. His fingers were definitely shaking. He could feel them now.

“Can you what?” Bruce asked, closing the pack.

Clint couldn’t form the words, a mix of embarrassment and anxiety holding his tongue. He took a slow breath in and brought two trembling fingers to his lips in and raised his eyebrows, hoping Bruce would understand the gesture.

“You want one?? I thought you had a phobia.”

Clint nodded, his nervous tremors plainly evident now. He was purposely standing his ground, “Y-yeah. I mean, at least-- I don’t know. I figure m-maybe it won’t be so bad if I’m t-the one-- M-maybe it’ll help me… get over it.”

“You know how I ended up getting addicted, right? Tony let me have one and then I never stopped,” Bruce warned with a wry chuckle as he flipped the pack back open and offered the open end to the other teen.

“Well, worst case scenario, l-lung cancer hasn’t got shit on my nightmares.” He picked one out and mimicked the way he’d seen Bruce place it in his mouth.

Bruce took one for himself too and repocketed the pack, pulling out the book of matches. He struck the phosphorus tip and lifted the flame to Barton’s cigarette. “Short quick puffs,” he instructed.

Clint’s eyes were almost comically bugged out and cross-eyed, focused intently on the flame dancing so close to his nose, but he gave a shaky nod, puffing until the tip was lit.

“And I wouldn’t inhale that first mouthful,” Bruce added through his teeth as he lit his own with the remaining matchstick before having to quickly shake it out before it could burn his fingertips.

Clint only responded with another quivering nod. The tremors were still there, but they were visibly subsiding. The added element of control actually seemed to be helping. He inhaled the second time around; it wasn’t pleasant, but at least he wasn’t choking. The scent was still making him nervous, but he reminded himself that she wasn’t here, that it was only the two of them, and it helped. He exhaled through his nose, testing himself a little bit more. His heart sped up for a few seconds, but ultimately nothing happened, just like he should have known nothing would. “Th-thanks, bro. This is… it’s… it’s something. I guess… not as scary as I thought?” he tried, lips finding the filter of the cigarette again in absence of any better words.

“No, just incredibly bad for us,” Bruce chuckled. He noticed this time when Barton fished out his phone. “What are you doing now?” Bruce asked with playful suspicion.

“Marking this moment in history. Facing my fears, Day 1,” he began, publishing the tweet, “See, it’ll make my followers feel better, because it lets them know that deep down, I’m just like them. Except, you know, only a shit-ton more awesome. And Hell, maybe some of them will face their fears too.”

Bruce wet his lips, the irony of the moment not lost on him. He smoked awhile before speaking up, “Hey, Clint?”

“Huh?” Barton didn’t look up from checking his other tweets.

“Your ah… therapist. Does he… happen to be taking any new patients?”

Clint looked up. “Yeah, I think so. You want me to give you his info or something?”

“Y-yeah,” Bruce answered, a little shaky now himself. He took a long drag from his cigarette. “I’d appreciate that.”

“Sure thing,” Barton nodded, unzipping his backpack to rip out a piece of paper from a notebook. He wrote the number down and handed it off to his new pal, grinning then and socking the other teen on the arm. “Good on you, man. I think you’ll like him; he’s a pretty chill guy. And he specializes in ada… adoles…” he tripped over the word and gave up, “you know, people our age.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Bruce chuckled, folding it in fourths and putting it in his breast pocket for now. The two of them stood in the parking lot until they’d each finished their cigarettes. Bruce checked his wristwatch. “I’m gonna need to be getting to JC soon.”

“Oh yeah, no prob,” Clint gave a dismissive wave. “You can just drop me off at the 7-11 on 3rd and Maple; it’s close enough to home. I can make it back from there.”

“You sure?” Bruce asked.

“Uh, hello? How many times did I nail you back there?” the other boy hooked his thumb at the paintball range. “You don’t have to worry about me so much, ‘Tash--” Clint clamped his mouth shut. “I didn’t mean that. That’s not what I meant,” he spluttered in mortification.

“Freudian Slip,” Bruce supplied.

“Yes! That!” Barton pointed at him. “Exactly that.” He turned to face away from Banner, obviously still embarrassed. “Guy was such a douchebag. Nat thinks I talk about sex a lot? Sheesh.” Bruce actually snorted. “Uh, anyway, guess we should get going,” Clint went on, “Don’t want you to be late to your super smart guy stuff you got going on.”

Bruce gave a light chuckle to that. “It’s not ‘super smart guy stuff’. It’s just a way to get ahead in the system,” he explained as he climbed onto his moped and waited for Barton to situate himself behind him with his crutches in tow. “Lots of kids our age do it.”

“Yeah, well, some of us are struggling just to keep up,” Clint snorted. “The heck are you trying to be when you get out of school anyway?”

Bruce fired up the engine. “Nuclear physicist.”

“Now see, that sounds like pretty super smart guy stuff to me,” Clint stated. “You let me play with that kind of stuff and this town’d probably be a crater.”

Bruce chuckled, having to admit the other teen had a bit of a point. He steered them out of the parking lot and onto the main drag in the direction of the JC. “You could come with and sit in,” he extended. “Tony’s sit in a few times.”

“I’m good, dude, seriously. I doubt I’d understand a word.” A few minutes later Bruce was pulling up the curb of the gas station mini mart. Barton disembarked. “Thanks for the lift, man.”

“Sure,” Bruce answered, hands each idly twisting the handlebars of his bike. “Thanks for the uh… invitation.”

Barton flashed him the thumbs up.

\--

Another goddamn B+?? If he wasn’t surrounded by other students, he would have reached up to pull his own hair in frustration.

The professor dismissed them. Bruce was about to get up out of his seat when Jessica, the TA, sat down backwards in the chair of the desk in front of him. “Hey,” she said, “Still having trouble getting the grade you want?”

The teenage boy blinked. Was he that easy to read or had she asked on a hunch? And why exactly was she addressing him? He wet his lips, folding his assignment in half to slide it into his backpack as if to hide it from the girl-- which was a completely nonsensical compulsion, considering she’d probably been the one to input everyone’s grades. “Yeah, a little,” he tried to downplay it with a shrug.

“This professor is pretty tough,” Jessica commented, glancing back at the man collecting his things at the front of the classroom. Her voice dropped, “But it’s not impossible to get an A from him.”

Bruce wasn’t exactly sure what to say to that statement. He knew it was true, because TAs were only selected from students who had formerly passed the class with an A. So the very fact that she was TAing proved it. How she’d done it however…

“I’d be willing to give you a study session,” the raven-haired girl said then, leaning forward a bit towards him.

“I…” Bruce stammered, “I, yeah… I’d appreciate that.”

Jessica smiled at him, tilting her head. “For someone who seems to have all the answers in class, you’re pretty awkward one-on-one, huh?”

The boy felt his ears readily heat.

“So, my place or yours?” she changed the subject back.

Bruce cleared his throat. “My dad doesn’t like it when I bring people ho--” he started.

“My place then,” Jessica interrupted, still smiling. It was weird. She was really cocky and forward, making plans under him and expecting him to go along with it. Kind of reminded him of Tony. She was doing him the favor though. “Next Tuesday? Thursday? Either of those work for you?”

He thought about it mentally. Those dates were fine for him. There was almost no way of knowing if Tony would be free any of the days of next week without asking him first though. “One of those should be alright,” he responded. “Can I maybe get back to you?”

“Of course,” Jessica agreed. She reached forward to snatch one of the mechanical pencils right out of his front pocket and spun his spiral notebook 180° to write her information down, then returned the writing instrument to where she’d gotten it. “There you go. Shoot me a text when you know and we’ll pick a time.” The TA stood and began to depart.

Bruce lifted his gaze from her hand-writing. “Thanks!” he thought to call after her, almost too late; she merely lifted her hand in a partial wave of recognition as she passed through the doorway.

He dropped his gaze back down to the page, beneath the phone number. _‘Jessica Drew, teacher’s assistant for Conceptual Physics’_


	57. Chapter 57

“Co-worker Anthony! I would have words presently!”

Tony closed his locker loudly as if the sound could cover up the football player’s thundering blunder, his eyes darting back and forth to make sure no one in the hall had heard that. “Thor, yeah, what’s up? Keep it down with the ‘co-worker’ thing around school, remember?”

The blond gave the quickest bow of his head. “Apologies, Master Stark.” He lowered his voice considerably, leaning in to convey his message. “I only mean to inform you that I shall not be able to perform my duties this eve.”

It wasn’t a practice night for the team, as far as he knew. “Sure I’ll cover for you, if that’s what you’re asking,” Tony answered. “You got a hot date or something?” he teased, elbowing the golden-haired teen.

Theodore’s blue eyes darted from one side to the other, hand clasping over the point of contact as if it were grievous injury. “You perceived this how, my friend? Be it through my manner of speech? Nay, I gave no indication of the sort...”

“Holy shit, no way. You _do_ ,” Tony found his mouth pulling into a ready grin. The two of them began walking towards their homeroom. “That’s awesome, man! So… who’s the lucky damsel?” he waggled his eyebrows.

“Ah,” Thor ducked his head worriedly, shuffling on his feet briefly before leaning closer to continue in a hushed tone, “Flock to me as they may, I must confess that this eve shall not be spent with one of the ‘fairer sex’...” 

Tony would have grinned even wider if possible, but he quickly hid it. “You don’t say?” So Rogers was finally taking his advice from the New Years party. That was a genuine surprise. Sure, Tony had seen the three of them all hanging out together a lot lately, but there had been no _dates_ to his knowledge. He wondered if the Class President had asked Phil out yet or not too. He reached out and slapped Theodore hard on the back. “Well good for you, man. That’s great to hear; it’s about damn time you came out with it.”

“You do not make jest at my expense, nor accuse of sinful debauchery…?” Thor asked cautiously.

“What? Why?” Tony blinked.

The blond’s sought to speak close to his ear again. “Why, for being romantically attracted to other males, of course.”

“Pssh, no way!” Tony answered, gesturing his open hands downward to emphasize his dismissal. “I mean, Pep’s been saying since freshman year you were probably gay since it’s not like you ever dated any chicks around here. I sure as heck didn’t care. What’s there to judge? And you were there in the hot tub, you saw me at the New Year’s party-- I planted one square on Barton. This is two thousand thirteen, not _one_ thousand thirteen.”

“And Master Banner as well,” Theodore chuckled at the memory of that ribald night. “Aye, but that was merely an adolescent game, was it not? Do I mistake you in your sexuality?”

Tony reached back to rub his neck. “No, I uh… I mostly prefer girls. Like 99.99% of the time,” he said quickly, then coughed.

Theodore tilted his head. “Then something must comprise the point zero one other percent,” he reasoned.

“Yeah, well, Bruce and I are seeing one another. So I guess that’s the point zero one percent,” Tony answered. “Love is love, no matter who it’s between. I kinda happen to love Bruce,” he shrugged.

“This is excellent news, my friend!” Theodore’s blue eyes widened with delight, “Not everyone who walks these halls is tolerant of such, but to know I have another ally!” His large hand came down to rattle Tony by the shoulder. “This has eased my burden a great deal. I thank you, Sir Anthony. Would only that my father see things as you do...” He looked down.

Tony almost snorted, sensing a certain gravity radiating off that statement. “Your old man not so okay with it?”

“He would rather see the name Ahlström stripped from me before my family be forced to bear such ‘disgrace’,” Theodore spat, fists clenching. “These were his words upon my short return on the Eve of the New Year. He said that I cannot be gay. Cannot! He forbids it, stating that I must further the bloodline, and for me to pursue my own ends would be an act of selfishness, the end of our great heritage.”

"That's bullshit!" Tony’s brow drew down, feeling for the better part indignant on Theodore’s behalf. "And passing on _his_ genes isn't even close to your responsibility," he scoffed, "Hell, even if it _was_ his right to demand that from you, couldn’t your brother Lucas--"

“Nay, friend,” Theodore held up his palm, “unfortunately dear brother Loki was adopted into our home. He is of Laufeyson descent. Father does not see him as true family as Mother and I do, though we have grown up together side-by-side as playmates. I fear I bear this burden of blood alone.”

“Damn, sounds like the guy is a seriously over-controlling parent,” Tony shook his head, for once kind of glad his own dad pretty much let him do whatever he wanted.

“I could bear his ignorance and cruelty no longer,” the blond proclaimed, “‘Tis why I fled to seek my own pastures. If he cannot love me as I am, then deserve my love he does not.”

Tony hummed and pat his pal on the back. “Sometimes it takes dads awhile to come around,” he spoke from experience. “Don’t write him off completely. But you’re right to give yourself some needed space for awhile.” Thor merely hummed. Tony rerouted the conversation back to a more pleasant place, “Anyway, I’m sure you and Steve will have a good time. What’re you two guys up to?”

Thor’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “You perceive this as well??”

Tony gnawed his lip. _‘Whoops, way to go, Tony.’_ he thought. Now how to explain his way out of this without throwing Steve under the bus? “Well, duh. You were eyeballing him pretty hardcore that whole afternoon we were studying chem together,” Tony ribbed, “I started to think it might be easier for you to memorize formulas if I ditched the flashcards and wrote the Q and A’s on him.”

Theodore cleared his throat, eyeing the tiled floor. He ignored the insinuation as he mumbled out his response, “He has acquired two tickets for the rugby game. Friend Steve extended his invitation this morning. I could not refuse! I have long wished that he would show some kind of interest in me; in fact, for a time I assumed his affections were only for that of the Son of Coul.”

“Oh, you thought that? Yeah, he uh...” Tony tried to keep his cool, failing miserably. “What I mean to say is, you’ll have a great time, I know it. Steve’s a pretty cool guy,” he reassured his friend, “Not as cool as me, but like I told you before; I’m taken.”

“Your boasts always provide plentiful amusement,” a grin spread across Theodore’s face once more. “But your reassurance proves more valued this day. I thank you, friend, for taking my duties so I may partake in frivolity with Friend Steve.”

“Don’t mention--” Tony started, but froze when a realization hit him, “Ah, shit.”

“Is something the matter?” Theodore inquired.

“Nothing, nevermind.” Speaking of ‘frivolity with friends’, he forgot he’d told Bruce he was going to be free today after school and now he’d effectively just screwed himself. He needed to come up with an excuse and catch Bruce now, before the big guy formed any expectations. He slipped his phone out of his pocket to check the time. Shit, he and Thor had been talking awhile; lunch was already half over. He turned to leave, “I’m gonna have to catch you later.”

“Fond farewell!” Thor called after his compatriot as he dashed down the hall, sneakers squeaking.

\--

“Bruce, hey!” Tony got out, leaning onto the lunchroom table, winded from his run.

The big guy looked up from the book he’d been reading over lunch, his tray already finished and set aside. “Nice of you to join me,” he said in an accusatory tone Tony didn’t much care for.

“Sorry, just got caught up for a bit,” Tony tacked on the apology, whether or not it settled the metaphorical spines on his partner’s back. He quickly slipped his feet over the bench to sit down, opening his bag lunch and withdrawing an apple. He crunched into it and asked through the mouthful, “What’cha reading?”

“M. Butterfly,” Bruce answered, keeping his eyes locked forward. “It’s the selected reading for the next book club meeting.”

Tony mentally cringed as he swallowed. Misstep número three. “Oh. I um… sorry I couldn’t make it to the last one of those,” he said, clearing his throat. “I wanted to go. Just… yeah. Got busy with the project and everything.” He took another bite.

“Of course…” Bruce muttered. He read a couple lines more before looking up and just putting it on the table, “There’s something you’re not telling me right now.”

The billionaire’s son let out a deep sigh; the big guy read him like a book, for better or for worse. “I can’t hang out tonight,” he admitted.

“But yesterday you told me--” Bruce began.

“I know what I said,” Tony cut in, “but something came up, alright??”

“Let me guess…” Bruce led in sarcastically with a partial eyeroll, “Project.”

“No, it’s not that,” Tony denied his usual supplied excuse. “Thor asked me to--” _‘Ah, double shit. Tony Sticks Foot in Mouth, Act II, Scene I.’_

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “You know what? Fine. Have a good time,” he delivered, standing to move in the direction of the gymnasium. If Tony had other friends, so did he.

“Bruce, that’s not what I-- Where are you going?” Tony called after Bruce’s retreating form. “Bruce, come back!” But he didn’t get an answer beyond the door clicking shut as he exited the building. Tony exhaled, his arm dropping to his side exasperatedly. Great. Juuust great. He bit off another hunk of apple with a crunch.

\--

“He said he was free today!” Bruce fumed, sending one of the spent firework casings off the roof with a kick, “I guess I’m the idiot who thought that meant he’d be hanging out with _me_ instead of Theodore! Why does he tell me he’s available and then flake out?”

Clint watched the object plummet through air and smack down on the pavement below. “That’s rough, bro,” he replied, still moderately surprised that Bruce was openly confiding in him. Hell, the guy could hardly wait til they made it to the roof this time. “But hey, at least he’s talking to you.”

Bruce growled somewhat. “I’m not sure ‘openly lying’ is preferable to radio silence.”

Clint drummed his fingers on the eaves, contemplating. “Well, if he’s lying about something, I could always find out what it is… You said he mentioned he was gonna be with that Thor guy?”

“Yeah… what are you suggesting?” Bruce frowned.

“I find out where Brawn Over Brains is going, and I follow.” He mimed out walking two fingers in his palm, then spun his index, “Do a little recon, maybe figure out what the two of them are up to.” He shrugged, “It’d be easy really. I’ve done this shit before for plenty of kids. You’d be surprised how many chicks want their boyfriends snooped on to make sure they’re not cheating.”

Bruce gnawed his lip. As much as he didn’t like that Tony had called things off to hang out with Theodore instead, he didn’t quite feel right sending Barton to go spy on them. “I don’t know…”

“Or...” Clint offered alternatively, “If that’s against your moral code or whatever, we could always hang out instead. There’s this bitchin’ dirt bike park nearby Halcyon Hill.”

A chuckle escaped Bruce’s lips. “I’d ask if you were sure dirt biking with a cast was a good idea, but I know better. Sure, let’s do it.”

“Suh _weeeeet!_ ” the other teen swung his legs, broken and non-broken, in excitement. It didn’t even surprise Bruce when he whipped out his cell to make the tweet. “I forgot to ask, Banner, how those bruises looking today? I bet your torso’s fuckin’ polka-dotted.”

Bruce chuckled, feeling his mood lifting already. “Yeah.” His fingers took to the buttons of his shirt and he opened it for Clint to see.

The boy gave a whistle. “Ni-hi-hice. Man, next time we go, you gotta try harder to not get hit.” He finished off his tweet and slid his phone back into his pocket, only to let out a groan. “Oh God, don’t look now…” he averted his eyes.

An eyebrow lifted on Bruce’s head. “Huh?”

Barton lifted his hand to point at the students milling around down below them. Bruce aimed his sights along the other teen’s arm, pushing his glasses up further on his nose as he gave a squint. “What is…” he began, when he saw what Barton had been referring to. Pepper Potts and Natasha Romanoff were sitting on one of the benches outside, presumably having lunch together, but… his eyes widened. The two girls were making out. “Are they… are they seeing one another?” he bumbled in disbelief.

Clint’s nose wrinkled. “Yep. And I’m pretty sure they’re doing it exclusively to torment me. Like, I mean, it was _hot_ when she and I were together and they made out in the jacuzzi. But this? Nah, this is like revenge for Nat.” He tapped his temple, “I know how her mind works. She’s getting back at me. And the fact that they’re out here, in the open, in sight of the gymnasium? ‘Tasha _knows_ I can see them from here; she brought Pepper here on purpose so they could snog and she’d know I was seeing every minute of it.”

“Isn’t that kind of petty?” Bruce asked, “To start a relationship just because it would irk an ex?”

Barton gave him a look. “You’ve never dated a chick, have you, bro?”

Bruce coughed into his fist. He was fairly certain that was a rhetorical question anyway.

Clint went on. “Yeah, it does sort of ‘irk’ me, I guess,” he gave a shrug before placing his elbows down on his knees and propping his chin in both hands to watch the girls, “But I mean at the same time I kinda think if it _did_ work out between ‘em, at least I know Pepper would probably treat ‘Tasha a lot better than I ever did.”

Bruce wet his lips. Yeah. Yeah, he could identify with that feeling... the feeling of knowing he wasn’t the best choice for someone else. He slid his hands into his pockets and huffed out a little sigh.

“I know technically, we were never really dating _that_ seriously, never have been. But I mean… I dunno man. We have pretty much _always_ been dating. Like, I know I wasn’t good enough, but I felt like maybe I _could_ be, you know?” He paused thoughtfully, before letting out a derisive snort, “Aw, who am I kidding?” He tossed his empty cola can off the edge in the direction of the bleachers. Aluminum struck aluminum with a resounding _clang!_ before bouncing into the grass. This managed to upset a few small birds who were probably too dumb to fly south for the winter, in turn startling the lovebirds a few feet away.

“Shit!” the archer cried out, pulling his legs back over the edge of the roof and rolling out of the girls’ direct line of sight. “Bruce, the fuck are you doing? Hit the dirt!” he whispered urgently. The other teen managed to duck just before Natasha’s head turned to eye the gymnasium roof with suspicion.

“She is gonna be so pissed at me later…” Clint groaned.

“From what you’ve been telling me, it can’t hardly get worse for you, can it?” Bruce postulated, turning his head to the side to speak to the archery champ from where they were crouched down. “Unless you’re referring to Pepper.”

“Fuck, I didn’t even think about _her!_ ” Clint replied, blanching, “Girls are such a headache sometimes, I swear. They all gang up on you at once.” He grumbled, shaking his head. He wriggled to the edge of the building to peek over it. “Okay, I think we’re in the clear.” The archer stood and dusted off his front, Bruce doing the same.

“Next class is in six minutes,” Bruce observed off his watch. “We should be heading down anyway.”

“Yeah,” Clint mumbled. Some of his excitement came back, “Hey, I’ll catch you out front after school lets out, ‘kay, man?”

“Yeah, see you then,” Bruce agreed, sliding over the edge onto the drainage pipe.

\--

The phone rang and Tony quickly nabbed a pen and the ordering pad before grabbing the phone off its hook and nestling it in the crook of his shoulder. “Salvatore’s Pizzeria, this is Anthony, can I take your order?”

He didn’t expect the voice to be one he recognized. “Hey Tony.”

“P-P-Pepper??” he spluttered, almost dropping the pad of paper and the phone simultaneously. “What the Hell? How’d you know I work here?”

“Word gets around,” he could hear a shrug in there.

His eyes widened. He hoped it didn’t get too far around. “Well you can’t just call me over the delivery line; I’m on company time.”

Pepper’s tongue clicked in surprise. “That’s a remarkably responsible thing for you to say,” she observed, leading him to realize that it was a little surprising to hear out of his own mouth. “And anyway, you haven’t been answering your cell, so I called the house and your father informed me you were at work.” Her nails could be heard clicking against whatever hard surface she was near. “And that, apparently, Steve Sr. used to call him over the delivery line and it never got him fired.”

“Christ, Dad…” Tony muttered, dropping his head down into his hand to rub the bridge of his nose painfully.

“What’s that?”

“No. Nothing,” he hurriedly interjected, still over-cognizant that he was tying up the line. She was lucky this was a slow night. “You win. What’s up?”

“I really just wanted to talk,” Pepper answered. “We haven’t since golf, you know.”

“Yeah, I guess we haven’t. I’ve been kind of busy,” he idly tapped the end of his pen on the countertop, hoping she’d read between the lines and understand now really wasn’t the time.

“So I’ve gathered. Bruce seemed a little…” she paused to select a word, “irritated to not be getting your time.”

Tony’s heart skipped a beat; he clutched to the microphone. “You didn’t tell him did you?? He _can’t_ know I’m working this job,” he said firmly.

“It was before I knew; I caught him this afternoon when school let out,” Pepper exonerated herself readily before launching her own new inquiry. “Why can’t he know?”

Tony wet his lips, shifting on his feet. “Well it’s… Okay, it’s a secret for one; you can’t tell, alright?” he insisted. Wow, this felt so grade-school, but he really meant it when he said he needed her sworn secrecy. This was a huge deal to him. Huger than huge.

His ex must’ve felt the same vibe. “Pinkie-swear, Tony. I won’t tell anyone.”

The boy let out a half-chuckle. He wound his forefinger into the coil phone cord. “I’m getting him something. I’ve been saving up every one of my paychecks--”

“Oh. My. Gosh!” Pepper exclaimed, and he could hear her cover her own mouth with her hand. “Tony, you’re not planning to pro--”

“Pep!” he blurted before she could get any further. “No, I’m not. That’s… It’d-- it’d be completely jumping the gun, okay? Bruce wouldn’t…” He meant to say something about Bruce wouldn’t appreciate that, but it didn’t quite make it past his lips, transitioning to a sigh instead.

“You don’t think he’d say yes?”

The teenage boy faltered. This woman _had_ to be crazy. How the Hell had this conversation gotten to where it was anyway? “Not now. Later maybe but…” God, how hard was he hinging on that? It was scary to realize. There was that ‘lots of other fish in the sea’ crap, but Bruce… Bruce was closer to him than anyone. Closer than he could ever imagine anyone else being _ever_. His grip tightened on the phone. Hell, Bruce hadn’t even said yes to _dating_. He drifted back to that moment on the hill. Just thinking about it again made it feel like he’d taken another punch to the stomach. He hadn’t told Pepper about that little set-back, or his old man. Tony did the only thing he could think to. “Where do you get off asking a thing like that anyway? You didn’t accept _your_ marriage proposal,” he shot back.

The girl clicked her tongue. “No, but I imagine my reason for doing so and his would be quite a bit different.”

“Wait wait wait,” Tony held up his hand even though his ex couldn’t see the gesture. “What do you mean by that? How would it be different?”

“Well I don’t know,” Pepper responded. “I said no to Happy because I wasn’t sure if I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. Bruce seems like… well, he seems like he’d say no to anyone.” Tony listened intently. “It wouldn’t be because _you_ were the one to ask, or that it meant he _didn’t_ want to spend the rest of his life with you. But I could also totally be full of it. So don’t listen to me.”

“No, no, it’s cool,” Tony assured her, appreciating what she’d said more than he let on. He scratched the back of his head, glancing about and remembering where he was. Three people could’ve tried phoning in to place an order in the elapsed time. A smirk deformed his face as a sure-fire way to end this conversation popped into his head. “So, when are you getting back together with Happy anyways?”

There was a short, likely ill-tempered pause. “I’m dating Natasha right now.”

Tony froze in stunned silence. “Natasha. Natasha _Romanoff_ ,” he clarified, even though there was only one Natasha at their school. How the Hell had he managed to miss that one?

“Yes.”

“But what about Cli--” he began, only to hear his boss enter the kitchen. “Ah, that’ll be twenty-three forty-nine!” He slammed the receiver down.

Sal’s hands rested on his hips. “You takin’ personal calls on the delivery line?” he asked. His sternness evaporated as he turned away, chuckling. “That takes me way back, I’ll tell you.” Sal exited and a moment later Tony felt his phone buzz in his back pocket.

_‘You hung up on me. I think I’m supposed to say something like “I’ll never forgive you”. BTW, Natasha’s doing a piece for the school paper on homosexual repression in high school aged teens. Maybe you and Bruce would have something to contribute, being certified experts in the field. *Assuming* you’ve gone public that is. Call me back when you get off work. XOXO’_

Tony scoffed, but couldn’t hold back the smirk that tugged the corners of his mouth. How dare she use his own words against him. Still, as ruthless as Pep was, she still had his best interests in mind letting him know that Bruce had been talking about him to her behind his back. He really ought to drop in on the big guy tonight instead of going home straight from work.

\--

Bruce was diligently double checking his Conceptual Physics conversions when he heard the doorbell ring. His forehead wrinkled and he checked his watch, only to have his forehead wrinkle further. Who would be showing up at their door at 10pm? He lifted his head to listen for a clue; his mother’s voice sounded out first, “Tony! I didn’t know you were coming over tonight, darling.” Wait. Bruce blinked. Tony??

“I was hoping I could stay the night. Is that alright, Mrs. B?” he heard his friend’s voice reply to her.

“Well certainly! Come on in, make yourself at home. Bruce should be in his room doing his studies.”

“Thanks, Mrs. B.”

Bruce listened, stupefied as Tony’s footsteps echoed down the hall. He put down his mechanical pencil and closed his notebook, turning about in his seat. The doorknob jiggled and the billionaire’s son let himself in with a grin and a wave. “Hey.”

“Tony…” Bruce got out, standing from his desk. “I thought you weren’t… I thought you said you couldn’t hang out tonight,” his shoulders gave an aloof shrug. It sounded like a complaint, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. He’d wanted his friend over; he was thrilled to have him. And staying the night no less. He watched as Tony set his overnight bag and pillow on the bed.

“Turns out I can,” Tony said smugly but avoiding eye contact. In truth, he’d gotten to cut out of work an hour early. Mr. Mancini had closed shop early since it was fairly dead anyhow. So Tony had made a quick pitstop home and come right over to Bruce’s, figuring the impromptu drop-in might redeem him from earlier. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it off over his head to start getting changed for bed. In that short time, Bruce had made it over to him.

The other teen prevented him from lifting the clean shirt over his head. “What’s the hurry?” he murmured.

Tony’s lips curled amorously. “There’s no hurry. I just figured you were busy with your ‘studies’,” he waggled his eyebrows at his friend.

“I think they can wait,” Bruce snorted.

“Are you sure? They’re super important.”

“Stop teasing,” Bruce mumbled, “You’re more important.”

Tony had to suppress an all-out grin. “Then,” he stated succinctly, tossing the shirt he’d been about to put on aside. He looped his arms around the big guy’s shoulders and locked mouths with him. Bruce kissed back, fingers finding the sacral dimples just above his friend’s jeans. “Mm… I fucking love you, you know that, big guy?” Tony said, skimming his lips over Bruce’s jawline up the right side of his face. He grabbed Bruce’s hands and pushed them down to his ass. “I want you inside me tonight...” he breathed the words out on his ear. No sooner than he’d finished saying it, Bruce had swung him around to topple back-first onto the bed; Tony laughed out loud. “Was it something I said?”

“Yeah…” Bruce murmured, fingering open the buttons on his shirt quickly, eager to get undressed and against the other teen, flesh on flesh.

Tony couldn’t manage to wait for his partner’s shirt to come all the way off, every bit as eager as the other boy was. He reached out and grabbed Bruce by the arms, pulling him into the bed with him, then pushed him onto his back, indicating exactly how he wanted this exchange to go. Satisfied with the position the other boy was in, Tony took it upon himself to finish what his partner had started, straddling him and undoing the buttons one by one while trailing kisses downward over the skin his work revealed.

Bruce hummed at first, but the pleasant sensation was quickly replaced by an unexpected one. “Ah!” he yelped out, giving a hiss as Tony’s lips pushed roughly into one of the more prominent welts yesterday’s activity had left him with.

Tony’s eyes shot open and he jerked his head upwards seeking eye contact, “What? What did I do?” His eyebrows drew together in confusion as he returned his gaze back to where his lips had been. A sharp intake of breath was Bruce’s only warning before Tony started frantically undoing the rest of his buttons and spreading the two sides away from his torso. His eyes scanned over the multitude of welts and bruises, mouthing his response silently at first, but slowly gaining a voice, “What the… what the _fuck_ , Bruce?!” Even in hushed tones, the potent mix of anger, shock and sadness was fairly obvious, “What did he _do_ to you?!”

It took a moment for Bruce to realize what this probably looked like to his friend. “It wasn’t my dad. Calm down.”

“Calm down?! That’s fucking bullshit, Bruce!” Tony got out of bed and stalked over to the other corner of the room. “Like I don’t know you’ve lied for him before.” Bruce had stood to follow. “You fucking _told_ me so. You can’t tell me--” His friend grabbed him by either arm and gave him a little shake to get his attention.

“Tony. They’re from _paintball_.”

Tony felt an incredulous scoff escape him before he even had a chance to consider the information being given to him. It didn’t sound the least bit like Bruce. “Really? Since when do you go paintballing? I know Betty’s competitive, but _come on_. Maybe your mom’ll buy anything that comes out of your mouth, but you’ll have to have a better lie than that to get _me_ to believe you.”

Bruce folded his arms, a bit frustrated his friend disbelieved what was fact. What reason would he have to be lying to him? “Since my best friend decided he was too busy to hang out ninety percent of the time,” Bruce snapped. “Barton invited me; I went along with it. And if you want proof, you can check his twitter feed.”

Tony almost instantly deflated after hearing that, unsure exactly which part of that to address first, or at all. He decided to settle for a timid-sounding, “Ahh.” He cleared his throat and examined the carpeting directly beneath him, “Well, that’s great. I’m happy for you.” And he was, if not a little shocked to hear that Bruce was branching out socially and giving Barton the time of day, considering the initial volatile reaction Bruce had had to the idea. This was okay though. It wasn’t like Bruce was going to find a fuck buddy on a night when work kept him from hanging out. Right. For all of his social blindness Bruce _had_ to know the difference, between what they were and what regular close friends were. And that fact rendered that ridiculous little concern (that Tony didn’t even bother to entertain in the first place) completely null and void. Besides, Barton was straight as an arrow. There was nothing substantial to bother getting jealous over.

Bruce was still frowning somewhat, and his arms hadn’t moved from their place over his chest now that he was conscious of what they were covering. “So, can we get back to…?” he trailed off, motioning his head at the bed instead.

Tony bit his lip. He wanted to, but no. Not yet. Something was still nagging at him. He put his hand up as if he were motioning for Bruce to slow down, “Hold up a sec, alright? There’s some things I think we’ve been needing to talk about.”

Bruce exhaled. This was hardly how he wanted to spend the rest of the night. Reluctantly, and with a silent grumble, he buttoned his shirt back up and took a seat on the edge of the bed to let the other boy know he was listening.

“I know you think I’ve been hanging out with other people,” Tony delivered firmly.

Bruce looked away, his lips pursed tight. “Because of what I said the night we went stargazing. Yeah, I _know_.”

“I _said_ that was okay,” Tony implored, but it sounded fake even to his own ears. He sighed, “Okay yeah, I wasn’t _as_ okay with it as I wanted to be. But I get it. And that has nothing to do with it. I’m not trying to shut you out. I promise.” Bruce didn’t say anything. Tony took a moment to collect his thoughts before he continued, “And when I mentioned Thor this afternoon, I wasn’t avoiding you to hang out with him. I tried to tell you but you stormed out.” He cobbled together a decent white-lie. “The guy needed a favor. His car quit running and you know how broke he is and it was a last minute thing; I had to help him out.” He bit his lip again, figuring this made for a good opportunity to set up an alibi for another day; it would only be a lie if he didn’t follow through later. “It’s still in desperate need of a tune-up; I only just got it running again, so I’m probably gonna need to get on that soon too, just as a heads up. I don’t want him getting stranded on one of his delivery runs. He might get fired and then what?”

Bruce gave a grunt, now feeling particularly bad for his explosion up on the gymnasium roof. If he’d sent Clint after the two of them after all, he would’ve felt even more stupid than he did now. He hadn’t stopped to consider that Tony might have a legitimate reason for cancelling. The teen readjusted his glasses. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the paintball thing. I guess the both of us should’ve been more upfront with the other on what we’ve been up to lately.”

“Considering our stellar communication skills, I’m shocked,” Tony delivered with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

Bruce phased back into silence, getting the feeling that the mood had definitely passed.

“We’re still on for Warm Bodies on the first, right?” Tony tried, plopping down next to Bruce on the bed, making the two of them bounce a bit.

Bruce turned his head enough to see his friend in his peripheral vision. “Yeah. I assume...” he said quietly; he didn’t want to start a fresh argument but he was a little uncertain Tony would stick to the commitment.

“Great. Trust me, there’s no way I’m missing that,” Tony assured him, rubbing his arm. After all, he’d requested off that entire weekend and he was planning to spend as much of it as he could with the big guy.

A smile wormed its way onto Bruce’s face. He turned his head the rest of the way and kissed him.

That definitely did a lot to bring the mood back. Tony issued a little hum as their mouths worked against each other, and he smirked internally as he simultaneously slipped his hand back beneath the big guy’s shirt (careful to avoid the welts this time) and his tongue inside his mouth. There, that hadn’t been so hard, now had it? They’d each spoken their mind a little, resolved things, and were making up. Sure beat the old ‘ignoring problems and focusing on sex’ stage they’d been stuck at before, Tony thought. Sure, there were still kinks to work out in the relationship, but they working on them, and Bruce was certain to feel more comfortable dating him soon, that he was sure of. Tony breathed the words out longingly, “Late February…”

Bruce drew back. “What’s late February?”

Tony smiled warmly. For the first couple weeks he’d just been saving up, not knowing himself what exactly he was saving for. It hadn’t been until yesterday that he decided on a pair of promise rings, and then he’d hit the internet to price out costs and an estimated date as to when he’d have the cash to make the purchase. But none of that would be slipping his lips tonight. No siree. Bruce wouldn’t be any the wiser until he sprung it on him. “Projected release date for that project I’m working on,” he answered. “You know, the one sucking up all my free time? You’re gonna love it.”

Bruce gave a chuckle, running his hand through his partner’s hair, considering his words. “Why can’t I get a peek now?”

“Patience is a virtue. Probably the only one you’ve got left since you met me, I might add.”

Bruce went in for another kiss, a hand sneaking around Tony’s torso. “I promise I won’t kiss and tell.”

"One:,” Tony lifted a finger, “That idiom isn’t even appropriate here and you know it. Two: It'll be worth the wait; I promise," he crooned, eyebrow arching mischievously, "Now where were we?"


	58. Chapter 58

“Thanks, Sal!” Tony waved back at his boss, paycheck in hand.

“Aye, many gratitudes!” Theodore chimed in.

“Don’t spend it all in one place, boys,” Mr. Mancini responded to them as they exited the pizzeria.

Tony barely managed to wait to get to the curb before ripping open the envelope containing his check. Just one of many things that made Fridays kickass. He glanced at the amount. $196. Awesome. This put him just above six hundred. He knew an _engagement_ ring was supposed to be two months paychecks, but it wasn’t an engagement ring he was buying, so it was okay he was going to be spending a bit less.

Beside him, Thor was grinning pleasedly at his own paycheck. “This Check of Payment proves plentiful enough to cover the rent I owe Steve’s parents at the commencement of the new month,” he said.

“Speaking of Bomb Pop Junior,” Tony segued, “How’d rugby night go?”

“Ah, it slips mind that you are not one to mince words...” Thor ground out with an air of uncharacteristic nervousness, poking the tips of his two forefingers together. It was still odd to see the prideful, confident jock so swayed by any subject, but Tony could personally identify with that one on several levels.

“I take it you had a good time?” Tony tried.

“Aye, it… well, things went… well,” Thor confirmed ineloquently, jaw clenched as he nodded. “Westmore was victorious as always. Lady Potts led the crowd with resplendence as she always has.” Tony nodded, not doubting that little tidbit at all, but he remained quiet, encouraging his friend along with a circular motion of his hand at the wrist. “A-afterwards Friend Steve and I departed for the evening’s sustenance. We traded tales into the night, until we were requested to leave by the barmaid-- pardon, waitress, I believe they prefer to be called,” he corrected himself.

Tony let out a soft snicker at the mix-up. “You two too loud?” he guessed with a sly smirk, shifting his stance.

“Certainly not,” Thor scoffed, “We had merely lost track of time and had unknowingly been preventing the diner from closing. We provided generous tip and expression of gratitude and took our leave to return... home.”

Tony snorted at the slight pause. So sue him if he found this mildly entertaining. “So when I see him in Social Studies, is he still going to be wearing his purity ring?”

Thor flushed red, giving Tony a light punch in the arm. The kind of ‘light punch’ that naturally sent him staggering back two steps. “Sir Anthony, Friend Steve and I are men of honor. We would not… I could not… against his vow...” the blond seemed quite flustered.

Tony held up his hands, amused grin not fading for an instant, “Easy, bud. I’m just messing with you.”

“Apologies,” Thor delivered with moderate embarrassment evident in his voice and shifted posture to fold his arms over his chest in a defensive gesture, “I fear it would be dishonest to claim the thought had not crossed mind. Many nights have I imagined having his company… all the more now. Still, I am wary of losing favor by voicing such things aloud, or acting upon them.”

Tony sighed, slinging an arm around Thor’s shoulders. Or trying. It was made kind of impossible by the disparity in height between the two; he settled for letting the arm loop around the football player’s back. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you need open communication in a relationship. You might not always like the things you hear, but it’s better than keeping quiet and assuming the worst.” Tony was well aware of the irony of the statement, but he’d been honest for the most part, and he was pretty sure secrets associated with surprises totally didn’t count. He chased the thought away and resumed, “As for sex specifically, I mean, some people are ready early in a relationship, others… not so much. But that doesn’t make it a taboo subject; go ahead and ask about it. You might be surprised, maybe he’s on the same wavelength you are,” he punctuated the ‘you’ by poking the other boy in the chest, “and he’s afraid you’re the one who won’t respond well.”

The foreign student chuckled nervously. “Aye… I suppose it is a possibility… Perhaps on our next date I shall breach the subject.”

Tony slapped the other boy on the back only to hurt his hand. “That’s the spirit. Don’t take no for an answer.”

\--

“So… you’re telling me you told him you couldn’t date, but then a week later when he asks you on a date to the movies you accept,” Betty summed up, her skepticism only visible in the dark eyebrow perched precariously close to her bangs. The two of them were standing on the porch of her house; Bruce had come to visit and catch up-- her interrogations weren’t going to stop otherwise and he had promised.

“I… um,” Bruce swallowed his sentence. “Yeah, that pretty accurately summarizes things.” He tapped his ash into the ashtray Betty had brought out with them.

The girl just shook her head. “You both ought to be committed. I hope you have a good time.”

“I think we will,” Bruce scratched the back of his head embarrassedly.

“I’m sure you will. And what’s with the short hair cut?” Betty’s head tipped to the side, sapphire eyes drawn to his motion, “I don’t think you’ve ever shorn it that far down.”

“The barber got a little carried away…” Bruce tried to mumble out, turning his head and cupping his free hand over the ear facing his friend.

“Is that Tony’s hair gel?” she went on, eyes narrowing suspiciously, “You smell just like him.”

Bruce blinked, perturbed. “You can smell me??”

Betty gave him a deadened stare. “Bruce, girls can smell everything. Including that cigarette you had before you came here.”

The boy’s mouth tightened. “It was two,” he admitted, taking a pull off his current one. He’d never had three in a day before, a fact which made him even more self-conscious. It wasn’t even really stress-related anymore. Betty didn’t comment though. He looked down at his wrist watch. “I should probably head out. I don’t know how mad my dad might be if I’m late for a dinner he helped with.”

The dark-haired girl was taken aback. “Your dad is cooking?”

“Yeah,” Bruce mumbled out, not too keen on the subject. He circled his hand around at the wrist, “It’s this thing he and Mom are doing on Friday nights now. He’s trying to be romantic or something, I don’t know.”

“It _is_ romantic,” Betty gave him a look that made him shy away. “Still, I guess it is a little surprising considering _your_ dad, but it sounds like a really good thing to me.” She pat his forearm. “Maybe you should take your dad’s example.”

“And what?” Bruce asked.

“ _Ugh_ ,” Betty rolled her eyes in a wide circle-- Bruce always had to have everything so explicitly explained to him. “ _Cook with Tony._ It could make for a really cute Valentine’s Day idea. Cheaper and less of a hassle than booking a reservation and going out. You two _are_ celebrating Valentine’s Day right?” her eyes narrowed, piercing into him.

“I um…” Bruce blushed, “Well, that…” He brought the quickly dwindling cigarette to his mouth to inhale. “I guess that’s a d-decent idea. I-If… if the movie date goes okay.” He exhaled.

“Well of course,” the girl said. “That’s a given.” She took a step forward to hug him. “See you at book club. Do you know if Tony will be able to make it?”

Bruce hummed and returned the embrace. “No clue. He’s been… kind of distant lately.”

“And why do you think that is?” Betty inquired in a fashion that made him think it was a rhetorical question.

Bruce rubbed anxiously at the back of his neck, careful to keep the cigarette away from his skin. “I did what I felt I had to, okay?” he growled, taking one last puff before harshly stubbing it out in the tray. He turned away from Betty, pressing the pads of his finger and thumb into his eyelids. “I’m beginning to think this date is a mistake. I should cancel.”

“Bruce, no,” Betty grabbed his arm with a firmness that surprised him. “Quit being stupid. This date is your chance to make it up to him, Bruce,” she shook his arm; he bit down on his lower lip. “Don’t ruin this for yourself.”

He severed his eye contact with her to stare at the ground. “I’m no good for him, Betty. I’m no good for anyone.”

“Bruce, you’re literally the _only_ person who thinks that. Why can’t you just see that??” Betty gestured with exasperation. “You want him so bad and you won’t let yourself have him but you won’t let go completely either. It’s nonsensical!” She gathered herself. “Please, just promise me you won’t cancel on him.”

The boy frowned. “We’ll see,” he answered noncommittally. He went down the driveway toward his moped, away from his friend. He mounted it, kicked up the stand, fired it up and took off.

\--

The fragrance of honey ham was enough to make his belly growl as he entered the house and turned for his bedroom to put his things down. He knew he was a little late getting in, but he’d wash up quick and join his parents in the dining room. Hopefully they were making eyes at one another enough to have not noticed his absence.

“David Bruce Banner, I need to speak with you _this instant_.”

His mother’s voice which was so uncommonly stern caused him to turn about uncertainly in the hall. “Y-yeah, Mom?” he queried.

Her hands were on her hips. “I was in the garden this evening planting the azaleas. I found something underneath your bedroom window you might care to explain to me.” Rebecca lifted the ziplock baggie of cigarette butts she’d collected for her son to see. His eyes went wide. “And I found _several_ more underneath the flower pot on the porch.”

Shit, he’d completely forgotten to cover his trail as of late. And he’d been smoking more, so there was plenty of evidence against him; even if he wanted to try blaming one of the neighbors, it wouldn’t be particularly plausible. Blanching, he opened his mouth, but not much came out. “Mom…”

“Are they yours?” she demanded.

His head hung disgracefully. “Yeah, they are...”

“Bruce, smoking is a filthy, disgusting habit!” Rebecca scolded. “Do you have any idea what kind of health problems can develop from smoking? Any idea??”

“Yeah, Mom, I know…” the boy mumbled, looking at the carpet.

“Then you’ll hand over whatever you have right this instant and understand that you are _never_ to smoke one again!” His mother held out her hand. Bruce looked down at it grimly. He’d wanted to stop, but not like this. Not because he was forced. Her glare hadn’t diminished. He averted his gaze as he dug into the pocket of his jacket and gave her his current pack and the matchbook. “Is this all, Bruce?” she asked; he nodded. Rebecca’s face didn’t soften as she pointed with her other hand. “Now go to your room. You won’t be having any supper.” The boy looked ready to protest, but he shut his mouth and turned, trudging to his room and closing the door behind him.

Rebecca bristled one last time as she went back out to the kitchen. She forcibly threw the pack of cigarettes and ziplock bag in the trash with a huff.

Brian watched her from the stove where he was stirring lentil soup. “You aren’t ordinarily so harsh with Bruce, Rebecca,” the man observed interestedly.

She swivelled to face her husband, eyes moist, hands both clasped firmly in the middle of her breast, “Brian, our baby boy was _smoking!_ ”

“He’s not so young as you would depict him, Rebecca,” Brian reminded carefully.

Her eyelashes bat tears away disbelievingly. “Did you know he was involved with this, Brian?”

The man took a deep breath. “I did.”

“And you made no move to stop him the moment you found out??”

Brian recognized it was a glaring change in his behavior, forged by a circumstance his wife knew nothing of. Arguably, it was only Howard’s advice that had stayed his hand and brought him to the conclusion that he should not interfere. Otherwise he may well have been much more strict than she had been... He reached out to take hold of his wife’s arm. “Do not mistake my inaction for a lack of concern. It’s regrettable, that’s doubtless. But you must also acknowledge that it is unavoidable. The boy is growing up, becoming his own man. He’s going to make his own life decisions, some of which we may not approve of, Rebecca.”

“Yes, but…” she sucked in a deep breath through her mouth. “I thought we raised him better than to take up something awful like that,” she sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with the hem of her long skirt. “Oh Brian, I just can’t bear the thought that he was doing that behind our backs.”

Brian hummed. “To be fair, there are much worse things the boy could have been involved in. This habit may not be life-long either.” He stroked her arm as he borrowed more from Howard’s perspective. “Keep that in mind. It is likely nothing more than a rebellious phase.” A difficult smile twitched across his face, “This isn’t the first time we’ve had trouble with Bruce.”

“I suppose I was a bit harsh…” Rebecca felt her calm gradually returning at her husband’s gentle urging; she was a little surprised how sympathetic the other man was being towards their son. He’d always been firm-- too firm for a time, but that was all in the past. She leaned into her husband. “I hope he doesn’t think I’m too angry at him; I simply care about his well-being.”

“He’s a bright boy. I’m sure he knows.” Brian stroked his wife’s hair consolingly. Of the two of them, it was _he_ who Bruce detested. He still didn’t know if he could ever right that wrong, but he’d continue trying as long as he could bear to. “Would you feel better if I spoke with him after dinner?” Brian offered.

Rebecca nodded. “Yes, I’d like that. Thank you, dear.” She leaned up and kissed him.

He took the soup off the stove and together the two of them had a pleasant supper. Rebecca busied herself doing the dishes and Brian moved for his son’s bedroom. He rapped the back of his knuckles on the wooden door. “Bruce, I’d have a word.”

From the bed, Bruce felt his stomach turn. He resisted the urge to bark a ‘Go away!’ and closed his book and set it aside. “Yeah, come in,” he permitted. May as well get this over with. The doorknob turned and his father entered, shutting the door behind himself. He watched as his old man pulled out his desk chair and oriented it to face him before taking a seat. Bruce waited, but his father didn’t say a thing, his face an unreadable visage. Finally Bruce could take it no longer. He broke eye-contact and spat, “I know what you’re here to say.”

“And what is that?” Brian asked interestedly.

Bruce looked at his father with an incredulous anger. “You’d say it was _improper_ for someone my age to smoke. You’d say I wasn’t old enough to make a decision of that gravity. That the laws are in place for a ‘reason’.”

The man hummed, nodding; it was a sound judgement considering prior ones he had made. “And yet, you have made that decision outside of my consent, and that of the law as well, haven’t you?”

“And so I’m to be punished,” Bruce continued spitefully. Would a new curfew be levied? Would his person be searched each day? His room as well? This was bullshit, and he had to reign back on every instinct to call his old man out on the illegal activities he knew _he_ had been partaking in.

His son’s bad attitude severely displeased him, turning the corners of his mouth down. “Your mother saw fit to send you to bed without dinner,” Brian spoke as calmly as he could, keeping Howard’s words firmly in mind. Anger would not avail him. It would only fuel his son’s and break down communication. “I’m not here to punish you further.”

“Then why _are_ you here??” Bruce rounded on him, eyes ablaze.

“Your mother is concerned about you, Bruce, as am I,” Brian attempted to explain, “She wished that I speak with you.”

“I don’t _want_ to speak with you,” the high schooler growled, his skin prickling.

“Nonetheless, you _are_ ,” Brian spoke forcefully, narrowly resisting the impulse to rise from his current seated position. He took a deep breath and let it back out. “Bruce, you told me that you were in charge of yourself now. I am not attempting to undermine that, despite what you may think. I spoke to Anthony about this habit of yours--”

Bruce’s eyes widened, mouth twisting into shock, “You _what?!_ ” He stood from his bed, both hands fisted at his sides. “You _knew?!_ ”

“I suspected,” the man watched his son warily. “I spoke with Anthony to confirm it and ascertain when and why the habit was formed.”

That was what his father had called Tony up to the study for, Bruce realized. He didn’t honestly know who he was more mad at, his father or his friend. Gritting his teeth in anger, he gave a shout and swept the books on the nearest shelf off onto the floor.

The action came as a surprise, but Brian held his ground. “Bruce, this behavior is non-productive. Stop at once and sit back down.”

“You say you’re not gonna tell me what to do and then you turn around and order me to sit?!” Bruce snarled.

It seemed no matter what he said the boy was going to take it the wrong way. “We cannot have a dialogue like this. I’m _requesting_ you sit.”

“I _said_ I don’t want to talk! And I’m ‘requesting’ you get the Hell out of my room!!” Bruce yelled, raising his binder over his head threateningly.

“Bruce, I’ve said nothing that warrants this kind of conduct,” the man remained resolute.

The teenager’s grip tightened on the binder, the muscles in his arm taut, prepared to throw it in his father’s face. He turned with a scream, throwing it at a shelf and causing many more items to tumble to the ground.

Brian stood. “We shall have this discussion another time, when you’ve calmed down,” he stated. He went to the door, opened it and left his son.

Despite his father’s departure, violence still swirled within him. Bruce yelled again and kicked the fallen book nearest him, sending it across the room. He grabbed two more off the shelf and threw them at the wall as hard as he could, going back for two more and then two more after that when his anger didn’t abate. “No no no!” He fisted his fingers into his hair, tugging until the pain brought hot tears to his eyes; he slid to the floor, still clutching his head in an attempt to get control of himself. What had done this? He hadn’t had an episode like this in forever. Not since 8th grade. Lashing out unprovoked. There’d been no reason for his anger… not _that_ much anger. His mother, his father, Tony… they all wanted what was best for him, to stop smoking. He himself wanted to stop. Why had he snapped? What was wrong with him??

Bruce pushed up his glasses to rub at his eyes. He sadly scanned his trashed bedroom, feeling guilt and remorse fill the space his rage had taken up only a minute ago. This. This right here. It was exactly the reason he couldn’t be with Tony. Sniffing, he reached for his backpack, pawing through the front pouch for the folded sheet of notebook paper Clint had given him. He found it and unfolded it, staring down at the therapist’s number.

\--

“H-hey, Mom?” Bruce ventured timidly from the edge of the living room and hallway.

Rebecca pulled her attention away from the book she’d been immersed in. “You’re supposed to be in your room, dear,” she said, more reminding than scolding.

“Y-yeah, I know…” Bruce rubbed the back of his neck. “But I need to talk to you about something important…”

Rebecca bookmarked her spot and set her book aside. “Of course, sweetheart. I did say we could talk anytime. Come sit beside Mommy,” she pat the cushion next to her. The boy took a deep breath, nodding. “Should I make some tea?” she offered. Bruce shook his head. He came around the couch to take a seat in it, fingers nervously rubbing the folded piece of paper in his hands; he hadn’t let go of it for the past three hours, contemplating this very moment before him. He could feel his pulse in his ears and neck, even wrists. His mother looked at him expectantly. “What is it, darling?”

“I…” Bruce took to staring at a point on the floor in front of him, “I want to see a therapist.”

Rebecca blinked several times. Her hand came to rest on his knee, the touch conveying deep concern. “Bruce, whatever for? There’s nothing the matter with you, sweetie.”

His head lifted to lock eyes with her. Did she really believe that? How could she not see all the things that were wrong with his psyche? Or was it ‘motherly love’ that blinded her to the the things that were so obvious to him? “I want to see one,” he re-asserted. “I _need_ to see one.”

“Honey, I’m sure whatever’s bothering you is quite ordinary for someone your age.”

“No, it’s not!” he fought her deflections; his patience was being tested. “I need help; I’m messed up!”

“Oh, Bruce…” She moved closer to cradle his head to her. “Don’t say that. You’re everything a mother could ask for and more…”

A growl formed low in his throat at the feel of her fingers sifting through his hair. He shoved her back roughly, eliciting a gasp from the woman as she fell against the armrest. Rebecca stared incredulously at him, eyes wide and alarmed as he stood from the couch. “B-Bruce…” she stuttered out.

“If I say I want to see one, it means I fucking want to see one!” he yelled at her.

“Sweetheart… I just don’t understand--” she began.

“You don’t need to understand!!” he cut her off, fuming; she shrunk back, “You just have to fucking _believe_ me, is that so fucking hard??”

From upstairs, the study door swung open. Brian appeared on the stairwell, glaring over the banister crossly as he descended. “What is all this racket about?” His focus was fixed on his son. “Bruce, I believe your mother told you you were to spend the remainder of the evening in your room.”

His hands fisted at his sides, almost speaking through grit teeth. “I was talking to Mom,” he delivered, making clear his presence was not wanted here.

The man rounded the baluster with purpose in his stride. “Since I could hear you from my study, I think it’s quite clear you were _yelling_ at your mother, Bruce, not talking to her.” His gaze fell to his wife then, momentarily taken aback by how shaken the encounter had clearly made her. “Now I don’t know what the meaning of all this is, but your attitude this evening has been intoler--”

“What’s the difference?” Bruce interrupted, taking several steps towards the man. “That’s all _you_ ever used to do!”

“Bruce!” Brian roared, “Room!!” His hand shot out to point.

Bruce could’ve almost sneered. Of course his old man wasn’t going to respond to that. It was indisputable anyhow. And he was proving by the second that the only way he knew how to solve a dispute was by being the one to yell loudest. “Make me,” Bruce challenged.

Brian hesitated. There was fire in his son’s eyes and it seemed he’d done nothing but fanned those flames so far. Howard’s words about Bruce expecting to be caged back in by him gnawed viciously at the edges of his awareness. But how could he keep order otherwise if his son was going to conduct himself this way? “Bruce,” he tried for an even, but still firm, tone, “There is no need for this to become a conflict. Return to your room. I won’t be asking a third time.”

The boy set his jaw and didn’t budge. Brian advanced on his son, grabbing him forcibly by the back of the neck and a wrist, twisting the latter behind his back up between his shoulder blades. Bruce gave a noise of protest, squirming in the tight grip of his father’s professional wristlock that was shooting pain through his shoulder and whole arm, but he was incapable of breaking free. His father applied more pressure, forcing him to stumble forward to alleviate it, guiding him step-by-step out of the living room. The piece of paper in his hands slipped from his fingers, fluttering to the floor. “No, no!” Bruce let out an alarmed yelp, making a last-ditch effort to free himself and grab it. His father twisted sharply, nearly to the breaking point, and with hot tears forming in his eyes, Bruce allowed himself to be led the rest of the way without any further resistance.

Brian finally let go once they’d crossed the threshold, shoving the younger man inside. “Your mother told you to stay here, Bruce,” he reminded as the boy glared daggers at him. “Whatever you wished to tell her can wait until the morning, when you’ve calmed down sufficiently.” With that, he took hold of the doorknob and shut the door.

Brian heaved a heavy sigh. He didn’t know if he’d handled that correctly, but what was done was done now: it had been handled. He straightened and moved out to the living room to return to his wife. He found her, kneeling on the floor, clutching what appeared to be a piece of notebook paper.

“Rebecca!” he exclaimed concernedly. “What are you doing down there?” he reached out to help her up.

She didn’t take his hands. Her head dipped lower and she let out a soft sob.

“Rebecca…” Brian repeated, lowering himself down to her and putting a hand on her shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of her face, but she turned her head away, hiding behind the hair draping over her face. The woman pointedly didn’t say a word. “Rebecca, please,” his words held the subtle pinched tone of someone being tried; he reached out again to stroke her cheek.

She withdrew to avoid the affectionate contact. Finally, her voice came in a whisper. “This is all your fault…” Rebecca quivered, wringing the note with the telephone number in her hands. “Bruce hates himself because of you.”

Now Brian drew back, stung… petrified. It was shock but it was also anger. He felt his muscles tensing; quickly he stood, grabbing her by the wrist to haul her to her feet as well. Rebecca protested meekly, her wrist fully encompassed by his hand and unable to do anything else. “You think I can’t see that??” he hissed into her face, shaking her, “You think you have to tell me how badly I’ve hurt this family?! You think _I. Don’t. Know?!!_ ”

Rebecca was more appalled by the admission than the physical violence her husband was suddenly exhibiting. She was shoved back by him before she could think how to respond and she watched him from afar as he seized the underside of the couch and flipped it with a yell, almost destroying the coffee table in the process. “I’ve tried and I’ve tried and I’ve tried for this family!” he raged. “To do what I thought was right! To provide!!” His fingers clenched around the metal rod of the standing lamp as if it were a neck to choke before tossing it aside on his way toward her. “But all I’ve ever done is fail, Rebecca!”

Her first impulse was to get out of the room and away from him as quickly as possible, but something held her in place. Rebecca steeled herself and strode forward, seizing her husband by the elbow to pull him back before he could topple over the endtable. She spoke in a firm tone. “Brian, stop it.”

His head whipped round, teeth clenched and bared, but she didn’t let it intimidate her. He pushed her away and grabbed the endtable to lift it up. “What more can I do wrong, Rebecca? You tell me now Bruce hates himself because of me? The only question left is why I ever tried at all!!”

“I said _stop!_ ” Rebecca shouted at him; she rushed around him to his front. “ _This_ is what’s been hurting Bruce! Yelling, being violent! This has gone on for too long, Brian. I’ve watched you act like this for too many years. If you want to stop hurting him…” her voice cracked, “if you want to stop hurting _me_ , you’ll stop this. Once and for all.”

The man gave another shout, throwing the piece of furniture to the floor. “I’M TRYING!!” he bellowed.

“No, Brian. You’re not,” Rebecca stated matter-of-factly. “You’re destroying our living room, nothing more.”

Brian’s eyes darted across the carnage. “I am… I _am_ trying…” he whispered pitifully. “I’m... try--” he repeated, the words heavy with denial. A tremor took to his hands. “R-Rebecca…” he implored, reaching forward with cupped hands for her face, “Rebecca, please believe me. I’m t-trying… I’ve been trying so hard…!”

She stepped back. “Get away from me. And get away from Bruce,” the woman said scornfully.

Brian retracted. Rebecca watched him warily as he turned and moved for their bedroom.


	59. Chapter 59

Bruce awoke with only a hazy rememberance of the night before. He tried to piece it back together... He knew he’d lost his temper at his mom which started the avalanche of events that had followed; his dad had yelled at him, he was pretty sure. But what else...? Damn, why couldn’t he remember?? Bruce curled his hands and thumped them against the sides of his head in an effort to physically jolt the information out. Twice. Twice in one day he’d gone into a rage that had wiped his memory clean. This… condition that afflicted him was worse now than ever...

The therapist, he realized, wide-eyed. That was what had instigated the whole thing! He had to talk to his mom again, make her see his need to schedule an appointment. It was his only hope of… _normalcy_. Bruce pushed himself upright in bed, met by sharp pain through his forearm. He clutched it instinctively with his other hand until the pain faded away, gently feeling along the tendons with his fingers. Just sprained but he’d be better off trying not to use it too much, he diagnosed. More carefully he climbed out of bed.

He pulled open his bedroom door silently to peek down the hall. Not seeing the note or his mother or father, he trod out towards the living room. His eyebrows both lifted when he saw the upended couch and other toppled furniture-- had _he_ done that?? No. No… he didn’t think so anyway. Cringing, he resumed scanning the floor; it had to be around here somewhere. Unless it had gotten thrown away. Maybe he’d missed it in his rush. He went back down the hall to check a second time.

He was interrupted before he could fully complete his search. “Bruce, dear?” His mother was standing at the entry to the master bedroom.

Guilt flooded almost immediately to the surface. He hugged his arms, dropping his head in avoidance of her gaze. “M-mom… I’m really sorry… I d-didn’t mean to get so angry… Sometimes I just can’t help it, and I don’t want to but…”

“There, there, sweetheart,” Rebecca came over to give her son a kiss and a hug. “It’s alright; Mommy forgives you.” She cupped her hands to his cheeks, looking into his eyes to deliver, “Just as you ought to forgive yourself.” She kissed his forehead once more and withdrew. “I called the therapist and you have your first appointment on the 8th at five pm after school.”

Bruce blinked in surprise. “You… you called him?”

“First thing this morning, darling,” Rebecca said. “I can tell it’s quite important to you that you get to see him.”

It was. Bruce swallowed. “Th-thanks, Mom.” The eighth. He could keep a level head until then. ...Right? Of course his date with Tony was before then.

“Of course, dear. I’m going to start a load of laundry; do you have anything you want washed, sweetie?” she asked, patting him on the arm.

The high schooler winced and gave a flinch. Rebecca’s face immediately changed to concern, “Sweetheart, your arm...”

“Just sprained,” Bruce grit out the reassurance. “It’ll be fine in a day or two.”

His mother frowned sadly. “I’m so sorry he did that to you, sweetie…” She hesitated, looking like she had more to say. “Let me get you my old wrist brace...”

Bruce nodded. He moved for the kitchen to get a bowl of cereal, only to blink back surprise when he didn’t see his father at the table where he would have normally been at this time on a Saturday morning with his coffee and the newspaper. He turned, calling down toward the master bedroom, “Did Dad go into work?”

Rebecca paused, a wave of nausea momentarily filling her gut. She eyed the empty space where her husband’s luggage usually sat. “No, dear, he had to leave on a business trip,” she answered, tossing a few more dirty things into the hamper as she dug through the closet for the brace.

Bruce licked his lips, thinking back to his father’s last ‘unusual absence’ and what it turned out his old man had been doing with Tony’s dad. “Did he say when he’d be back?”

“Sorry, sweetie, he didn’t. Why do you ask?” his mother returned.

“It’s not important,” he answered almost automatically. It wasn’t unheard of, but it wasn’t commonplace either for the man to get sent on a business trip. And after last night… or at least, what he remembered of it... Bruce shook his head of the thoughts and opened the pantry.

\--

“...and then I realized. No _way_ has Banner gone parasailing! My cast comes off tomorrow and then I’m crutch-free; we should totally celebrate!”

Bruce felt a chuckle rise in his throat at Clint’s enthusiasm, directing it away from the microphone on his cell. Clint hadn’t called at the best of times, but then Bruce had realized he could probably use a short respite from his studying. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to wait to cross either of those off my bucket list,” he replied, studying the wrist brace he’d put on his arm a couple hours ago. “Sprained my arm. Besides, I’m pretty backlogged on homework this weekend. Not that I don’t appreciate the offer,” he added as an after-thought.

“Wait. What happened to your arm?” Clint rewound.

Bruce coughed, awkwardly shifting on his feet. The archer hadn’t missed that mark. “It… well, it was my dad,” he admitted, a little quieter.

“Bro,” the word held enormous sympathy, “That sucks _hard_ core.”

Bruce agreed with that sentiment whole-heartedly. He tapped his forefinger against the back of his phone as he paced his room momentarily, coming to stop at his window. “Well… wouldn’t have happened if I’d just gone back to my room like he told me to… I fucked up last night,” the boy grunted.

“No, hold up, timeout,” Clint butt in; Bruce could almost envision the ‘T’ the other teen was making with his hands, “I don’t know what went down, but you _can’t_ blame yourself for anything he does. Whatever the situation was, it was _his_ choice to mess you up. You didn’t _make_ him make that decision; nothing you ever do will give him the justification to mess you up.”

The highschooler sucked a tooth. “But I started it--” he began.

“It doesn’t matter _who_ started it!” Clint sounded pretty worked up. “Either way, your dad could’ve ended it. _Without_ hurting you. It’s like that one saying… what is it? Two wrongs don’t make a right? Yeah, that one. You getting me here, Banner?”

He still felt like if he hadn’t yelled at his mother that things wouldn’t have escalated to the point where he’d gotten hurt. “I ‘get’ you,” he answered, then rephrased. “We all have accountability for our own actions, regardless of the actions of those around us and how those actions affect us.”

“No need to write an essay, dude, but yeah, I think you’ve got it,” Clint responded back. “Trust me, it took me a looot of sessions to get that lesson. I mean _really_ get it. Not just say I got it. But eventually my therapist got through to me. Just remember it, okay? You’re not to blame for what he does. And if he _tries_ to blame you, well, that’s straight-up manipulative. That’s the kind of thing my mom did.”

The teen wondered at that for a bit. “I actually have an appointment two weeks from now,” Bruce shared.

“Damn, dude, already?” the archer was obviously incredulous, if not a little impressed, “Shit, it took me weeks to build up the courage to make one!”

Bruce coughed again. “Yeah well, I guess I just kind of realized how badly I need the help. My smoking habit has been really out of control… and even so I haven’t been able to stay calm, I keep getting irritated over the tiniest things...”

He heard Clint give a snort of amusement on the other side of the line. “Gee, Banner, maybe it’s just your time of the month.”

Bruce’s lips pursed at the off-color humor. “You know, that could be part of your problem,” he pointed out matter-of-factly, shifting on his feet.

“My problem?” Clint chirped. “Wait, weren’t we talking about you? I’m confused now.”

“ _You_ ,” Bruce emphasized. “Your problems. With ‘Tasha.”

“Yeah, okay… you’re about three steps ahead of me now. What’re you driving at, Banner?”

“Why Natasha’s distancing you,” Bruce explained. “You seem to look down on girls just because they’re girls.”

Clint seemed almost comically affronted by the statement, “Wha--? I do _not_.”

“Well you’re always saying things like ‘girls are crazy’, ‘girls are a headache’, ‘girls don’t make any sense’,” Bruce shrugged off a few examples of things he’d heard from Barton in their recent time together. “It sounds a little… misogynistic,” he used the word carefully. “I’d think that would put a strain on a… heteronormative relationship.”

“Okay, yeah, maybe I _sound_ like a misogy-whatever, but I’m _not_ ,” Clint shot back, sounding all of five years old in doing so, “I don’t _hate_ girls, okay? And I don’t hate ‘Tasha either. I’m just… what’s the word you used in Social Studies? ...Skeptical?”

Bruce shifted back and forth as he contemplated his reply. “Projecting skepticism is going to engender hurt feelings. How would you feel if she said ‘All men are stupid’?”

“What? That’s dumb, no we’re not!”

Bruce waited a moment in pointed silence.

Clint sighed dramatically. “Okay, yeah, I guess I see what you’re saying. But when I say stuff like that, it’s not like I mean it. It just helps me get some of my own distance, you know? The last woman I trusted used me as an ashtray. It’s hard to change the way my brain works after something like that.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Bruce concurred. “But you can’t use that as an excuse to not try.”

“I guess I’ll try and do better. I mean, it can’t make things any worse than they are now…” Clint grumped. “You know I spotted them at the ice cream parlor yesterday? They were sharing a cone. _Sharing_. That’s _such_ a cutsie gir--” Clint abruptly nipped his tongue, rephrasing, “I mean, that’s such a cutsie _couple_ thing to do.”

Bruce chuckled at the near-slip. “Doing better already.”

Clint sighed, muttering. “Yeah. Makes me wonder what they’re up to right now…”

\--

Pepper pulled the scrunchie positioned at the back of her head out, tossing her head twice to get her hair to fall back behind her shoulders. Saturday morning practice had ended early and her girlfriend had been there to pick her up so the two of them could go out. She regarded the girl in her living room with a smile. “I’m just going to go put on something a little nicer,” the cheerleader said, motioning her freckled shoulder at the stairs as she already began for the first step.

“Why bother?” Natasha asked in an almost surly tone.

Pepper turned, short skirt doing a sharp swish as she propped both hands on the railing to lean slightly. “Well in case anyone sees us while we’re out, of course.”

One of Natasha’s crimson eyebrows tweaked. “You look provocative enough in what you’re already wearing, don’t you?” her green eyes made a show of moving up and down the length of the girl standing behind the banister.

“I don’t know, do _you_ think so?” Pepper’s gaze was challenging, a smile on her lips as she leaned onto one hip.

Romanoff took an extra second or two to answer. “I’d make the judgement that you are.”

Pepper shook her head. “I _mean_ , do you like what you see?”

“You and I both know this relationship wasn’t predicated on attraction,” Natasha dead-panned, rolling her eyes to look elsewhere.

The cheerleader put her hands on her hips, huffing out in slight annoyance. “Even so, I’d like to dress up a little for my girlfriend.” She softened. “C’mon. Come upstairs with me. You can help me pick something out. Something you _like_.”

Natasha sighed, unfolding her arms. She followed the other redhead up at her own pace; Pepper had already made it into her walk-in closet by the time Natasha arrived in the cheerleader’s bedroom. She let herself flop backwards into the large fluffy bed to stare at the ceiling. She’d been here a lot recently. One thing about both being girls was that parents didn’t “get suspicious” about what might be going on when she wanted to sleep over; she and Clint had had to be a lot more furtive. Natasha snorted despite herself, gaze drifting downward to where her hands lay resting upon her stomach. She frowned and lifted them to place behind her head instead.

“How about this?” Pepper’s voice disrupted her brooding, causing her to turn her head to look from her reclined position. Pepper was holding up a vermillion top, khaki knee-length skirt, and a matching pair of cork strappy wedges. Definitely cute. Natasha shrugged her shoulders. Pepper swiveled and disappeared back into her closet. The sound of hangars scooting across their dowel rod followed. Pepper returned with a teal top, white-wash hip-hugger jeans, and a pair of sequined sandals. Natasha’s lip quirked but she didn’t offer comment. Determinedly, Pepper disappeared a third time, coming back with a one-shoulder black tanktop, ‘ripped’ short shorts, and a pair of knee-high leather boots with several buckles.

Natasha actually sat up to evaluate the third outfit. “And I’m supposed to take you out to the mall so you can buy _more_ clothes?” the girl ultimately commented.

“Obviously I need more if nothing’s striking your fancy,” Pepper shot back with sass. She started to get dressed in the third outfit regardless of her girlfriend’s approval.

Natasha sighed again, gaze redirecting to the window before speaking. “I appreciate the effort you’re putting into this. Going out, dressing up. We’ve been having a lot of fun together. But we both know neither of us have a desire to make this into a long-term thing.”

The strawberry blonde stared at her partner. “‘Tasha, are you trying to break up with me?”

“It’s not like that,” Natasha answered, picking at loose threads in the comforter. “I’ve actually been really enjoying dating someone who _isn’t_ an idiot.”

Pepper tried to keep her laugh from coming out as a snort, but didn’t quite manage. “Me too. I mean, at first of course I figured we were just doing it as a kind of in-your-face, ‘we don’t need boys’ kind of thing, but you’ve actually been one of the best partners I’ve had. You’re dependable, but not overbearing. You’re intelligent and strong, but you don’t make a big show out of it. Honestly, I never knew a relationship could be like this.”

Natasha’s lips pulled into a tight smile, looking down into her lap with chagrin. “I think similar things about you. It’s just… I don’t think you’re going to want to stay with me once I tell you about…” her words tapered off then.

“‘Tasha?” Pepper prompted, coming to sit down beside her girlfriend. She placed her hand on the other girl’s leg. “Tell me about what?”

The girl sighed resignedly. “I’m two months late,” she mumbled out, not meeting the others’ eyes.

“Oh my gosh,” Pepper put her hand to her mouth, recoiling. “Are you…? Have you taken a pregnancy test to be sure?”

“Two,” Natasha answered emotionlessly. “And a trip to the clinic. I’m sure.”

Pepper’s back was very straight. “Well, I can’t criticize you on your fact-checking.”

Romanoff gave a small chuckle. Finally she looked the cheerleader in the eyes. “Listen, I understand you want no part in this. You ran away from a marriage proposal, you’re not going to stick around for a baby that obviously isn’t even yours. It’s been nice, but it’s over. I know it; I’m fine with that.”

And again, one of those things she’d grown to love about ‘Tasha: she was upfront and straight to the point. Still, it stung a little to be read so easily as to what her reaction would be to the news. Always committed to herself and never to another person. Pepper’s next words seemed hesitant. “So… you’re keeping it?”

“I… haven’t decided…” Natasha answered emotionlessly.

“Have you told anyone else?” Pepper asked. “Your parents? ...The father? Is anyone pressuring you to keep it?”

“No. You’re the first one I’ve felt comfortable telling, actually,” Romanoff responded, a little beside herself at the fact. She didn’t have too many people close to her, but she’d learned Pepper could at least keep a secret. “I haven’t told my parents yet, and I _definitely_ haven’t told Clint.”

Pepper worried her lip. “I can understand why you’d be hesitant to do that.”

Natasha dropped her head down into her hands despondently, “He’s not even a responsible _boyfriend_. There’s no way he’d be a responsible father.” She went quiet a long moment. “Maybe I should just go back to that clinic, get the abortion, and pretend like it never happened. I could do that, couldn’t I?” she looked to Pepper almost desperately for her input.

“That’s certainly a valid option,” the cheerleader rubbed slow circles into her friend’s back to try and soothe her. Certainly in ‘Tasha’s place, she’d get one. She was going to get her business degree and nothing was going to stop her, even if she decided to have kids later in life. “In your circumstance no one could blame you for making that decision.”

Natasha chuckled through a small sniffle, running the back of her hand across the underside of her nose. Half of her had hoped Pepper would just affirm the decision and she could just go through with it remorselessly, but it just wasn’t that easy; Pepper obviously knew that too. “It’s funny…” Natasha shook her head with chagrin, “all this time I champion feminism and women’s right to choose, but when it happens to me… I actually feel really conflicted...”

Pepper contemplated this carefully. “Do you think there’s a reason for that? Would you feel as conflicted if it were someone else’s?”

“You mean not Clint’s.”

“Exactly. Like if it were,” Pepper picked a random male at their school, “Steve’s or something. Would you feel any obligation to keep it?”

Natasha practically snorted. “Of course not.” Her snark was short-lived. “I guess I have to admit that you’re onto something,” she said, pushing the wavy hair back from her face as she thought more deeply. “As much as I don’t want to, I have to talk to Clint about this before I can be absolutely sure about my decision. Otherwise I’ll have to live with the doubt the rest of my life if I did the right thing.” She drew in a deep breath. “As much as I rag on him, I really wouldn’t be the same person I am today without him… He… he at least deserves to know. I can’t keep this secret from him.”

The cheerleader leaned in and kissed the other girl on the cheek. “Whatever you decide, I want you to know I think you’re very brave. And I’m here for you. As a friend.”

“Thanks. You’re a good advisor,” ‘Tasha’s eyebrow drew up as a smirk pulled subtly at the corner of her mouth. “Sorry I had to go and ruin things between us by getting pregnant.”

“Tch, please,” Pepper rolled her eyes. “It was already ruined when you didn’t like any of my outfits.”

“Still want to go shopping?” Natasha offered, rising from the bed.

The cheerleader looked a little surprised. “Do you?”

Natasha affirmed it with a nod. “Yeah. It’ll be fun. I could use a little fun right now.”

Pepper bounced up from her seat and began grabbing things from around her room to stuff them in her selected purse. “Great. We’ll hit up Nordstroms first, I know you’ll want to check out Hot Topic, then we’ll nab an Orange Julius to drink while we go over the details of next week’s paper, and swing by Motherhood Maternity after.” She slid the purse strap onto a shoulder, pausing half a beat to evaluate her friend’s reaction to the jest, “Too soon?”

“Much,” the columnist responded dryly.


	60. Chapter 60

Tony tapped the eraser of his mechanical pencil against the General Chemistry textbook in time to the guitar riff playing through his earbuds. He was leaned back in his seat, feet crossed at the ankle and propped on the desk in the teacher’s lounge where he’d been every Monday after school since his dad and Principal Fury had struck that bargain about his detentions. Most of the time he ended up sitting around doing nothing except for the days when everyone came in because there was a test the next day or whatever and they were looking to cram. Which was his time to shine, because if there was one thing Tony was, it was cram king. So maybe he was finding a small amount of pleasure even in this unwanted circumstance, even with Fury occasionally coming out of his office to circle like a hungry one-eyed shark and make sure he was ‘doing what he should be’.

The door to the teacher’s lounge cracked open, drawing Tony’s eyes up. A smile immediately followed when he saw Bruce’s head peek through; he removed his earbuds and sat up in his chair to greet him. “Bruce! What’s up?”

“Just came to visit,” the other boy answered, slogging his backpack off his shoulders and to the floor. He took a seat at the elongated table opposite his friend. “You don’t seem too busy.”

“Next test in Chem isn’t for a week,” Tony explained. “I probably won’t get anyone the entire two hours.” He poked his phone’s button quickly to light up the screen-- he’d been here a whole ten minutes so far. Didn’t time fly when you were having fun? He rolled his eyes. “Fury sees you in here he’ll kick you out, you know. He knows you’re in AP, not Gen.”

“I’ll leave soon,” Bruce answered and Tony silently pouted because that was so not the impression he’d wanted to give his friend but it was too late now. The boy pushed his spectacles up and leaned on the desk with his elbows. “I wanted to ask you something though.”

“Shoot,” Tony twirled his writing implement.

“Have you seen my dad at any point last weekend?”

Tony felt his eyebrow lift of its own accord. “No…” he drew out slowly, getting the feeling he was missing something here. “The basement’s been clear, if that’s what you mean. Why?”

Bruce looked the other way, chewing his lip. “Mom said the lab sent him on a business trip. But he hasn’t called and he never said how long he’d be gone for.”

“Sounds nice,” Tony put his feet back up on the desk. “Gets him out of your hair for awhile. Enjoy it while it lasts, I say,” he shrugged.

Bruce went silent, stewing over the comment.

The teacher’s lounge door opened once more, much to the two teen’s surprise. From the hallway stepped inside Phil, looking fresh-faced and perhaps a little rosier than usual. “Tony,” he said in half a gasp, his books clutched to his chest. He’d loosened the navy tie that was normally cinched neatly about his neck in order to unbutton the collar of his button-down shirt that also looked a little more rumpled than usual.

“Hey there, Phil,” Tony greeted warmly. “Guessing you need help with Chem?”

“No.” Coulson’s eyes snapped to Banner. “Yes.”

Tony’s face metamorphosized into a mix of skepticism and curiosity. “Sorry. Guess I better go,” Bruce murmured, picking up his bag. He vacated.

“I’ll catch you later!” Tony managed to get in just before the door shut behind the brooding teen, though he had no idea whether Bruce had heard him or not. He sighed then looked back to Phil. “So ah… yeah, ignoring that…” he cleared his throat, “what can I help you with?”

The boy slapped his books down on the table in front of him. “I kissed him, Tony!”

“Kissed… who?” Tony drew out slowly for the second time in five minutes, but he had a good idea who Phil meant.

“Steve! He asked me out in the hall and I… I don’t know what came over me, I just leaned in and kissed him!”

Tony faked indifference as he scoffed and pretended to be preoccupied with a Chemistry textbook, “So? It’s not like it’s the first time.”

“But Tony, he asked me _out!_ He asked me to go with him to the World War II museum and… and…!” Phil flapped his arms in a fluster, “and I couldn’t speak, so I kissed him and ran off!”

“Sounds like a perfectly valid ‘yes’ to me.” Tony replied, aloof, “Though you should probably text him later to confirm a time and a place to meet up.”

Phil tried to slow his pounding heart to little avail. “Y-you think I should? Is right now later enough or should I do it in a bit?” he fumbled his cell phone out of his pocket. “What do I say? How do I word it? Should I make a draft first? Will you proof it for me?”

Tony finally turned to face him, shaking his head in amusement, “I think I’m missing the conflict here. The guy you’ve had a hard-on for since _7th grade_ just asked you out. This is basically your dream-come-true, isn’t it?”

Phil’s face went bright pink. “B-but what if it turns out he doesn’t like me?” he stammered.

Tony grabbed Phil’s upper arms to still him, sighing, “Then it turns out he doesn’t like you, but honestly--”

“But I really, really, _really_ want him to like me!” the other boy looked close to tears.

“Phil! Relax! He likes you.”

“He… he does?” Phil dabbed at his eyes quickly. “How… how do you know?”

Tony gnawed the inside of his cheek as he tried to think of how to answer that. Fuck, didn’t he used to be good at lying? Okay, maybe that was really only to his dad. He let out another defeated sigh, issuing a warning, “Do not tell him I told you… believe it or not, we’re kind of friends now, and I’d prefer not to fuck that up.”

“Steve told you he likes me?” Phil sounded surprised.

“At the New Years party, he came to me asking for dating advice. Kind of laughable in retrospect considering this is me we’re talking about, but alcohol _was_ involved so he probably didn’t have the best foresight.”

“S-so… you’re absolutely _sure_ he likes me…” Phil squeezed his fists at his sides anxiously.

Tony ‘ahh’d. Better answer that one carefully. He had no idea how Steve was handling his dating life, nor how open he was about it. For all he knew, Phil was already aware of Steve and Thor’s date from the other day. He nodded assuringly as he replied, “That’s what he said.”

Phil threw his arms around his schoolmate in a hug. “Thanks, Tony.”

“Don’t mention it. Now do you need any actual help studying?” If this kept happening, he’d have to start charging 5¢ a session like that Peanuts girl. He snorted.

Phil reddened again as he let go, returning his hands to himself and shaking his head, “No, I don’t… I mean, I’m good. What you helped me with last week really helped though, I got an A on the assignment and everything.”

“Well good; keep it up,” Tony encouraged.

“I guess I’m just going to be…” Phil pointed behind himself at the door, backing towards it, “I’ll go now.”

“Have fun,” Tony waved. The other boy left and Tony let himself plop back down into his chair, throwing his sneakers up onto the table. After several failed attempts to balance his mechanical pencil on the tip of his forefinger, his thoughts went back to Bruce. Their own… ‘get-together’ wasn’t far off, which had his heart practically in knots. Now if only he could say the same for the teen who had come in a moment ago. He frowned. Though he’d just brushed it off earlier, he felt a nagging worry regarding the question the big guy had come in to ask him. After all, the last time Brian Banner had been at the Stark abode was only _days_ after Bruce had shown up with that nasty black eye. Even the possibility that there could be a correlation had him antsy. Of course leave it to the big guy to be stoic and not elaborate, keeping him completely in the dark, Tony grumbled.

Whatever was the matter, it would more than likely pass. With any luck it would do so in time for their da-- _get-together_ , he reminded himself firmly; it wasn’t a date until Bruce _said_ it was a date-- so the two of them could have a really awesome time and then _actually_ dating him would be one less thing on Bruce’s to-agonize-over list.

Tony shook his head and returned his earbuds to his ears, selecting a jam to dash his uncertainty away.

\--

Clint forced his eyes up from the bare legs of the cheerleaders jogging down the hall towards their after-school practice, chastising himself with a slap to the side of the face. _‘They’re not dressed like that for you to look at.’_ he forced himself to think. _‘They’re dressed like that because… because...’_ he struggled to think objectively, _‘Because those outfits happen to be the best design for that kind of agile activity.’_ He rolled his eyes. _‘Tch, please, that is such bullshit, c’mon. They’re dressed like that for horny football fans to ogle while they drink beer and watch the game, no matter_ how _talented they are.’_ Goddamn. Maybe he was starting to understand some of the things Natasha said about society’s impossible double-standards for women...

He shook his head and narrowed his gaze on the floor in front of him as he walked, unassisted by crutches, but now wearing a walking brace, to his locker. Normally he would’ve seen the small slip of folded notebook paper barely sticking out of the bottom crack, but it wasn’t until he’d fiddled the combo in and pulled the door open that he saw it flutter out toward the floor.

“Whoa!” he bent and caught it reflexively between his two hands. “Who’s this fr…” he began as he unfolded it, only to have both his eyebrows draw up.

_‘Meet me where no one knows the truth.’_

Clint’s eyes bugged out at the familiar looping handwriting in Natasha’s signature red ink. “Holy shit.” He crammed the paper in his pocket and took to wildly looking back and forth down the hall as if he’d see her sneaking away. “Hooolyshitholyshitholyshit. _Shit._ ” He forced himself coherent, running a hand through his spiked locks. “Okay, calm down, Clint. She’s communicating with you again. She wants to talk. That’s a _good_ thing.” He pulled his hair. “Ohhhh _fuck_ I’m gonna screw this up!” he bemoaned, dropping to his knees in front of his locker.

“Hey, you okay there, Bird of Pray?” Tony punned, stepping up to his own locker.

Clint’s head snapped up. “I’m fine. Duh. I just… Shit, have you seen Banner? I need to talk to him. Pronto.”

“Well yeah, of course,” Tony replied as if it were a dumb question. “He’s headed home. He’s got JC tonight.”

“Fuck!” Clint swore. “He’s already gone??”

“I don’t know about that. You might be able to catch him if you hurry.” Tony shrugged as he switched books. “What’s so important anyway? Is it two-for-the-price-of-one night at the rock wall or wh--”

“Fuck you and your punctuality, Banner!” Clint shouted as he bolted away, foot brace banging against the floor with every other stride.

“Oookay then. Forget I asked,” Tony swiveled back around, feigning offense-- okay, maybe not completely feigning. “I’ll just check your twitter later,” he muttered.

Clint barrelled through the double doors, stopping on a dime at the top of the steps. His eyes scanned the parking lot swiftly. Oh thank God, there was Banner. The other teen was clicking his dorky as Hell safety helmet onto his giant egghead. Clint leapt down the steps, shouting. “Banner! Banner, wait up!” He cupped his hands over his mouth, “Bruce!!”

His first name caught his attention. Bruce glanced up and saw Barton running towards him. “Uh, hey,” he said as the archer came into range, “I was just about to go.”

“Smart-guy class, I know,” Clint said with both his palms up and out. “But I need you to do a me a solid and drop me off at 3rd and Maple.”

Bruce shrugged. “I can give you a ride.”

“Listen, it’s way more than just a ride, alright, bro?” He glanced back and forth before withdrawing the folded note and holding it up between two fingers. He leaned close and whispered, “‘Tasha left me a note. I’m freaking _out_ right now.”

“Did it say something bad?” Bruce asked.

“No, I think she just wants to talk.” Clint exhaled. “She _might_ be willing to take me back. But I’m gonna fuck this up, Banner, I just _know_ it! And if I fuck this up, _guaranteed_ she’ll never speak to me again. I’ll be a bachelor the rest of my life.”

Bruce straddled his bike. “Hop on. We’ll talk about it on the way over. You don’t want to make her wait around or she’ll think you’re not coming.”

Barton nodded furiously. He positioned himself behind his friend. Bruce negotiated the moped out of the parking lot. “Shit, this is all bad,” Clint bemoaned behind him. “I want her back so bad but I just don’t know what to say! What do I say, Banner?”

“It’s not about winning her back, it’s about being a person she wants to be with.”

“Yeah, I get that but-- I _do_ , I’m not just saying it, but shit, why did she have to pick _now?_ Of _all_ times!” Clint worried, “I need more time to be mentally ready for this! If I just had another week or two or three...!”

Bruce tried to ignore how well he identified with that statement. It wasn’t lost on him how close he and Tony’s date was getting. He spoke over his shoulder, “First of all, calm down. Maybe you _are_ ready and you just don’t know it.”

“Ha, yeah, okay, no. I think you’ve got me confused with someone else,” Barton responded. “If I was ready I’d just walk up to her and say ‘Nat, I’m sorry. I’m going to do better from now on.’.”

Bruce lifted an eyebrow but didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Why don’t you just say that?”

“Because!” Clint threw up his arms, pinwheeled slightly, but managed not to fall off the back of the motor vehicle. “I _can’t_ do better yet! Five minutes ago I had to repress the urge to ‘accidentally’ drop my pen on the floor to have an excuse to look up a dozen cheerleaders’ skirts!”

“Did you?” Bruce asked.

“Of course not!” Clint got out exasperatedly. “But I really seriously _wanted_ to!”

“But you didn’t,” Bruce reinforced.

“I just told you I didn’t! Oh my God...” the archer dropped his face down into his hands. “I’m a horrible person. ‘Tasha’s _never_ gonna want me back.”

“You’re not bad for thinking something bad,” Bruce tried to explain, hoping the other teen was listening. “If you never had a bad thought ever, how praiseworthy would your good behavior be? But if you’re constantly thinking bad things and _not_ doing them, not giving into temptation, then that shows a remarkable strength of character. It shows that you really _are_ a good person, despite what you think.”

Clint seemed to want to protest that, but didn’t have anything to come back with. “You oughta be a mind-shrink, you know that?” He wet his lips and shook his head again. “Thing is, I dunno if ‘Tasha will see it that way…” he said in a small voice.

“You won’t know until you talk to her. Be honest. She can’t trust you unless you’re honest. You’re _trying_ to do better. That doesn’t mean you’ll be perfect right off the bat. If she doesn’t want to hear the truth… maybe it’s best if you two stay apart a little longer, or permanently.”

Clint swallowed, chuckling a little bit at Banner’s use of the word ‘truth’. “Yeah,” he vocalized.

Bruce slowed to a stop at the intersection, glancing up at the convenience store sign. “Natasha really wants to meet with you at the 7-11?” he asked with slight confusion.

“N-no. I’m meeting her a little further up,” Clint covered, wishing right now he had Nat’s silver tongue.

“Well I could just take you straight there,” Bruce reasoned, “You don’t want to be any later than you have to.”

“It’s fine, this is good,” Clint assured, hopping off the moped before Banner could try being any more generous. He almost face-planted in the process as his walking brace caught on the motorcycle. “Fuck! Okay. I’m good, I’m good,” he stumbled. “Thanks for the lift. I’ll um, I’ll talk to you later, let you know how it goes.”

Bruce nodded and didn’t question it. “Qapla’.”

Barton did a double-take. “What did you just say to me?”

The boy on the moped smirked. “It’s Klingon for ‘success’.” He withdrew his foot from the asphalt and puttered off.

Clint shook his head, but was wearing a tiny smile. “Fucking nerd-speak.”

\--

He did, however, stop in and get a Blue Raspberry Slurpee for himself and a Cherry Limeade for ‘Tasha.

Clint sucked on the red straw as he approached the burnt down house, eyes scanning over the charred infrastructure… most prominently the large hole that had burnt through revealing the ashy columns still supporting part of the roof that hadn’t entirely caught flame during the disaster. The building had been that way for almost three years now. He could still remember how it looked before it burnt down though. It had always been abandoned as far as he knew, so no one had really cared when it got burnt down, and it was likely why it hadn’t yet been demolished and rebuilt or replaced. Of course, from his point of view-- and ‘Tasha’s-- it was like an ugly reminder that would never go away and would always be there to haunt them.

Ever since he’d first laid eyes on Natasha, he’d had the hots for her. Of course, being an 8th grader, he also didn’t have the balls to go up to her and say so. He’d been taken out of public school and placed at the juvenile correctional facility several months prior to when she showed up mid-year for some ‘undisclosed incident’. While some other kids bragged why they’d been placed there, Natasha refused to ever say what had landed her there. She was always quiet back then. Never said anything. That he did ask her about. She’d just stared at him with those piercing jade eyes and spoke, _‘Anything you say can and will be used against you.’_ and then lapsed back into silence.

Smoke detectors went off a lot more around the educational facility with Natasha there. She had a habit of lighting things. Little things like gum wrappers or a stack of pencils. She had this lighter and no matter how many times the staff took it away from her, she managed to get it back. Clint had no idea how she did it.

The archer stepped through the burnt-through hole to stand inside-but-still-outside the building, glancing around for any sign of the girl. “Nat?” he called, turning around in a circle, “Nat, you here?” He waited a moment and tried again. “Yo, Nat!”

It had been pure coincidence he’d been wandering along that street that day three years ago. He really hadn’t been doing anything that day. He thought he remembered kicking an empty can down the road, but when he looked up he saw ‘Tasha with a five-gallon jerry can, soaking the building as flames leapt up around her, devouring the flammable liquid and wood. Smoke had already been pluming into the air; sirens were next, faint but growing closer by the second. At first he’d hesitated at the sight of all those hot flames licking upward, but despite his paralyzing fear, he’d leapt inside. He’d had to wrestle the can away from Natasha, which was no easy task-- she’d been so engrossed, so consumed that she seemed unaware of the danger they were in. He told her they had to leave quickly before the authorities arrived and they were discovered. But the flames had grown hotter and higher and the building was collapsing around them and they couldn’t find an escape… Thankfully the firetruck arrived, dousing the flames from the outside as firefighters ran in, carrying them to safety.

Both of them had been soot-covered and terrified in the aftermath. Of course police were there as well and immediately they were interrogated as to their presence at the site of the arson. Natasha didn’t speak a word, of course. She was sticking to her guns about her Miranda rights. But it was on record that she had ‘child pyromaniac tendencies’ and he knew she already had two serious strikes against her, and that one more would land her in a supervised youth detention center with little hope of a rehabilitation program to get her back out.

So he’d spoken up and lied to the officers that he’d started the fire and Natasha had run in to try and save him when they both got trapped inside the burning building. He’d been two weeks from being returned to public school for ‘good behavior’. With the new offense, he was stuck there for an additional six months probation. Not that he much minded when it meant he and ‘Tasha got to stay at the same education facility. She approached him the next day and he’d honestly been a little surprised when she spoke. _‘No one’s ever taken the hit for me like that before.’_ were her words, and that was how they first started dating. After the traumatizing incident the two of them stayed on the straight and narrow and by the time Freshman year was up, they were both sent to Westmore High.

He never once asked why she did it.

Natasha appeared from one of the darker corners of the building, making him choke on his Slurpee. He coughed, thumping his chest a couple times to recover. “Motherfucker!” he managed to get out hoarsely, “You scared the shit outta me, Nat!”

“Sorry,” her lips twisted somewhat in a smile, “I expected you’d beeline for the roof. I know being down here freaks you out.” Her eyes honed in on the drinks he was holding. “Is that for me or did you buy yourself one for each hand so you could double-fist it?” a sharp red eyebrow tweaked up.

“Right, the roof, yeah,” Clint clued on. She’d been waiting for him up there, of course. Now he felt a little dumb. “Yeah. I mean, no. I brought you this,” he extended her Cherry Limeade. Honestly, how anyone could enjoy a frozen beverage that tasted like sour cough syrup medication was beyond him, but he knew it was her favorite flavor.

The girl stirred it and took a quick, almost polite sip. She didn’t seem very interested in it, or at least seemed preoccupied with something else. Clint cleared his throat. “S-so… you wanted to talk?” he guessed.

Natasha nodded. “Come on,” she instructed, turning. Clint followed. The roof was fairly easy to access-- they just had to take the stairs to the second floor and climb through the burnt-out hole onto the porch overhang. The two of them took a seat on the ledge, letting their feet dangle over. “So how’s your leg?” she inquired.

“Oh,” Clint blinked in surprise and looked down at it, “It’s um… it’s a lot better. Doc took the cast off last weekend. Thanks for um… you know, thanks for asking.” Natasha nodded, stirring her frozen drink with the straw. He hesitated, hoping this wouldn’t come off the wrong way, “How are you and… uh… Pepper?”

“We called it off this weekend,” Natasha answered emotionlessly, still stirring as she stared down into the cup. “It was mutual, don’t worry. Nothing dramatic.”

Clint coughed out a difficult laugh. “Sorry to hear that.”

That drew the redhead’s gaze over to his, though it was a pointedly incredulous gaze. “You’re _sorry_ to hear that I’m single?” she issued sarcastically.

“No, it’s not tha--” Clint opened his mouth, then shut it again in realization as what she’d just said truly hit him. “Jesus, Nat, is that how I used to think?”

Her brow wrinkled at the rhetorical question. “I don’t…”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” he expounded as he stared outward at nothing in particular, “To me it was always just about whether or not I could have you, _not_ whether or not you were happy.” The archer shook his head, somewhat sickened with himself. “No, ‘Tasha, I mean it. I’m sorry to hear whatever it was that happened got in the way of you two staying together.” Natasha went dead silent, sucking through her straw. “Pepper was good to you. I could tell.”

The girl came out of her brooding to give him a look. “Were you spying on us?”

Clint gave an awkward chirrup. “Only a little. Okay, a lot at first. Less when I started hanging out with Bruce. But I couldn’t help myself!” He felt embarrassed admitting this, but he was doing what Banner had told him on the way over and being honest. “At first I was hella jealous, but I guess the more I saw you two together, the more I realized how well you ‘compliment each other’ or whatever. And you don’t have to tell me what it was that broke you guys up, cuz I know it’s none of my beeswax.”

Natasha bit her lower lip. “Actually, Clint, I do need to talk to you about that...”

“You don’t _need_ to, ‘Tasha,” Clint leapt in, grabbing her hand and looking into her eyes to convey his sincerity. “I know how important your privacy is, okay? I’ve always known how important it was to you, but somewhere along the way I got dumb and forgot and I’m hella sorry I shared all of those pics of you with the guys; it was completely uncool and I promise I’ve learned my lesson, I’m not ever gonna tell or share anything with anyone unless I have _complete_ permission from you first. And you don’t ever have to feel pressured to tell me something if you don’t want to. You let me into your life that day after the fire and time and time again I’ve taken it for granted and I’m not gonna do that anymore, Nat. I’m gonna _respect_ you.”

The girl looked mildly stunned by everything that had just come tumbling out of Clint’s mouth. She shook her head. “I’d be lying if I said I ever expected you to say something like that.”

“ _I_ never expected me to say something like that,” the boy followed up almost immediately. He kicked his legs absently. “But I’ve been thinking a lot-- I know that seems unlikely, but I have! Especially about how I’ve treated you, and I’ve been an ass. For some reason I just got it up in my head that it was okay for me to treat you the way I did, you know cuz lots of guys treat their girlfriends like shit, but that doesn’t make it okay! I _get_ that now. And I’m sorry for writing off half of what you always said as ‘crazy girl talk’ cuz it wasn’t crazy girl talk at all, it was the thoughts and expression of a person-- an _awesome_ person, Nat: _you_.”

Natasha felt a slight stirring in her chest, followed by growing dread. “That… that means a lot to me to hear, but if we’re thinking of getting back together, Clint, you really do need to know--”

“Nat, it’s cool, alright?” the archer interrupted to reassure. “We don’t have to rush back into this; we can take more time off if you need to. I understand now. Promise. I’m not gonna rush you. You just let me know how much time you need--”

“I don’t need time I just need you to listen--” she began.

“Which is exactly what I’m gonna do, babe!” he exclaimed. “I’m gonna listen to you when you want to get something off your chest, I’m gonna be there to support you even if I maybe don’t get it so well, but I’ll really really try! I’ll try to look at it from _your_ point of view.”

“Clint, would you just let me talk?!!” the girl shouted, slamming her drink down.

The boy jumped, eyes wide and more than a little startled, but he was silent.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Natasha sighed in partial relief. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “Everything you’ve said to me… I really appreciate you took the time to think about all of this. It makes me a little less uncertain about…” she bit her lip.

Clint looked curious but unsure if his ban on speaking had been lifted. “About…?” he ventured cautiously.

Natasha took a deep breath in and out. This was it. The moment of truth. “Clint, do you remember that night at the lodge when we weren’t being careful enough?”

The boy blinked. “What, you mean on the slope or…?”

She shook her head, anxiety growing though she disguised it. “No. Up in the lodge, _after_ your skiing accident.”

“You mean…” The gears were obviously turning in the archer’s head as he remembered the activities of that night, “Wait, Natasha, are you… are you trying to tell me…?”

_‘Yes, I’m trying to tell you I’m_ pregnant.’ she bit back the response with sheer force of will, gritting her teeth within her skull.

“Are you trying to tell me I’m gonna be a _dad??_ ” Clint blurted.

Natasha kept her jaw from hitting the floor. “I-- well, I hadn’t really known if you--”

“If I’d be excited?” the boy interrupted. “Nat, this is amazing news! I’m gonna be a dad! I can’t believe it!” He was practically hopping in his seat on the eaves.

Natasha couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Of all the reactions she’d expected from him, this had probably been one of the absolute furthest. “I didn’t know you had an interest in being a father…” she pushed hair back behind an ear.

Clint’s tone became as serious as it ever got, “Listen, Nat. I may be a total shitshow when it comes to a lot of things, but my dad left my mom before I was even _born_. I think I can do better than that. Fuck, I’ll say it right now: I _know_ I can do better than that. And I know, I know, you’re probably worried cuz I haven’t won any World’s Best Boyfriend awards, but this is different. This is a kid. This is _our_ kid, Nat.”

The girl let out a small sob, turning to throw her arms around his neck. He blinked, obviously very taken by surprise. He wasn’t even risking rubbing her back. “Nat? Is um… is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong…” the girl got out, burying her face into his neck momentarily.

“Okay, but, you’re crying. Usually that means something’s wrong, and I um…” Now was really a time when he was questioning what someone who _had_ won a World’s Best Boyfriend award would do.

She closed her eyes, breathing in against his skin. “I considered getting rid of it. Without ever even telling you… I’m realizing now how much that would’ve been a mistake.”

Clint licked his lips; rather than saying the first thing that sprung to his mind, something very much along the lines of: ‘The Hell, you kidding me??’ he actually _thought_ about her position before speaking, just like he said he would. “Don’t feel bad about it, Nat. No matter what it was your prerogative. You know, being the mom-- or well, I guess, the girl and stuff, is more what I mean, since you wouldn’t technically be a mom if you got rid of it,” he tripped out, knowing he sounded like more and more of an idiot the longer he spoke. “And this is gonna be a huge responsibility-- for _both_ of us. Especially since we’re ‘so young’ or whatever, and everyone’s gonna call us screw-ups, but then again, they’ve been calling us that since 8th grade, so what else is new; haters gonna hate,” he rolled his eyes. “But um, yeah, anyway… I’m glad you told me, instead of...” he scratched the back of his head as he trailed off once more.

Natasha pulled back from his shoulder to study his face up close. “Thanks, Clint.” She pressed her mouth to his.

That kiss made it feel like fireworks were going off in his brain. He wrapped his arms around her waist to embrace her, his feet kicking lightly in air in jubilance. When at last her mouth left his, he smiled and inquired, “So, when’s she due?”

The girl lifted an eyebrow. “And just how do you know it’s going to be a girl?”

“Just a feelin’ I’ve got,” he seemed fairly confident about the wager, bobbing his head. “All my dude-sperm probably tried some stupid stunt up the Fallopian tube acting like it was a half-pipe and broke their tails.”

Natasha just reached up and flicked his head.

\--

Bruce found his way to his usual seat for Conceptual Physics, slipping his backpack off his shoulders and unzipping it to get out his book and binder for the course, along with some writing utensils. Today the professor was planning to go over the homework problems most people missed last week; he would be doing extensive note-taking.

Jessica came in a moment later, bearing a stack of paper. The professor wasn’t there yet and there wasn’t any homework to return… which could only mean one thing.

Pop quiz.

“Clear off your desks; pens, pencils and calculators only,” the TA announced. A collective groan swept through the air. Bruce bit his lip as she made her way across the front of the classroom, passing down the appropriate number of sheets for each row. Her eyes stopped on him for only a second or two, but seemed to communicate ‘Good luck’.

Unfortunately luck didn’t have too much to do with Conceptual Physics. Bruce did the best he could in the fifteen minutes they were allowed to muddle over the questions. He was still trying to figure out the best approach to the last problem when she called “Pencils down.” Well, that was one guaranteed zero, but he was pretty sure he’d gotten the other nine problems correct, which would put him at a 90. He could handle a ninety. If only he’d had a little more time though! he could’ve gotten full marks and some much needed points to bring his overall grade up.

Wetting his lips, he passed it up to the student in front of him and Jessica collected the quizzes, taking them back to her seat up front to grade while the rest of class proceeded. The professor asked them to take out their most recently returned homework assignment and got started. Every so often Bruce felt his eyes pull away from the chalkboard and slip over to the TA, wondering where in the stack of quizzes she was and if she’d gotten to his yet. He licked his lips again, unable to keep from noticing how prolifically she was using her red pen to mark the current quiz sheet… and the one after that… and the one after that. He tried to focus on the lecture, but his grip on his mechanical pencil kept growing tighter.

After what felt like ages, class ended with a short overview of what they could expect in the upcoming weeks. Jessica began handing back their quizzes. Bruce squirmed in his seat as she one-by-one returned each to its respective quiz-taker, wondering to himself if he shouldn’t sit on the other side of the classroom in the future so he wouldn’t have to be held in suspense like this. At last she made it to his desk. “Bruce,” she murmured, setting it upside down on the surface. Her eyes met his before pulling her hand away and moving on.

He waited until he was sure she wasn’t watching him to snatch it up from his desk. He gawked at the top margin in disbelief.

‘8/10 B-’

Immediately his eyes dropped down to find out where he’d made mistakes. He’d received half credit on problem four for the wrong answer, and a fourth had been taken off questions seven and eight for slight errors. Totalled with an incomplete for problem ten and it came out to eight points out of ten.

Fuck he needed a cigarette.

The classroom had mostly vacated. He was still going over his errors when the TA’s voice drew his head up.

“You haven’t gotten back to me.” Jessica slid backwards into the empty seat in front of him again.

Bruce cleared his throat and avoided her gaze. “Sorry.”

Her hands went up in faux-defense. “Hey, it’s your grade.”

He felt the sting of that comment. “I’ve… I’ve had a lot on my mind lately,” he explained.

She studied him with a hum. “I can tell.” He lapsed into silence, unsure what to say to that. “For what it’s worth, you’re actually doing really well. You show understanding of the concepts, you’re just making little errors. And I can give you tips to help avoid those pitfalls.” He felt her hand touch his shoulder and almost jumped in surprise. “I can tell you’re the kind of guy who likes to work through things on his own, but getting help isn’t a shameful thing.”

Bruce couldn’t help the wry chuckle that left his lips. “Yeah.”

“So I’ll hear back from you soon?”

“Yeah. I’ll try to get back to you this week,” the high schooler promised.

“Great,” a smile spread over Jessica’s features and she stood with a toss of her hair. “See you later, Bruce.”


	61. Chapter 61

Howard put his electronic signature on the digital blueprints before uploading the document to his secure server. He placed his palms on the edge of his desk, pushing himself away in the rolling chair and swiveling 90° once he had to get up. He stretched his arms above his head and then glanced at the clock on the wall. His eyebrows shot up briefly. Seven already?? Gadzooks! He’d have thought at least his stomach wouldn’t’ve let the time get away from him; he silently prayed Tony hadn’t given up on him and thrown something in the microwave yet. He should try to have dinner with his son at least _once_ a week.

Mumbling chastations under his breath, Howard knotted his robe and moved for his son’s bedroom, only to see a sight that made a chuckle rise in his throat instead. He leaned cooly on the doorframe, folding his arms across his chest. “Hey, I’m going out; don’t wait up,” he called in from the doorway.

Tony paused in packing his overnight bag to regard his father, looking him up and down with a look of befuddlement, “In your bathrobe? Oh Hell, it finally happened. You’ve gone senile.” He clicked his tongue twice, “Guess I better bring up the phonebook and call the retirement home.”

“Very funny,” the older man snorted. “I was saying it out loud because _you_ don’t seem to have any intention of doing so.”

“Well, is there a problem?” Tony asked, stuffing another t-shirt into the bag and zipping the large pouch. “I’m off for the weekend, so it’s not like I’m obligated to stay in.”

“Well, normally no,” Howard confessed, switching his hands to rest on his hips. “But I feel like being an overbearing parent today. Where are you going? How long will you be gone for?” he began to faux-grill his son, “Who’s going to be there? Will there be drugs?”

Tony rolled his eyes and gave a pained sigh, “Movies, Sunday evening, Bruce, and a few bags of cocaine, but we’re selling it so don’t worry.”

“Atta boy,” Howard congratulated in monotone. A long pause followed. “So you’re taking Bruce out on a date tonight? That’s... interesting,” he rubbed his scruffy chin, “I thought you two had broken it off--”

“It’s not a date,” Tony interjected sharply, “We’re not dating. We never were.”

Howard cocked an eyebrow, “You’re sure?”

“Yes, Dad; I’m positive,” the boy answered, grabbing his Kindle out from under his pillow to pack it as well.

“And here I thought I’d raised a genius,” Howard hummed, choosing to study an interesting spot on the wall. “Nevermind Bruce can’t seem to see it either.”

The mention of the other teen struck a nerve. “Dad. It’s not a date. Period.”

“Fine. Consider it noted,” the man shrugged.

“Thank you.” Tony resumed.

Howard paced his son’s room briefly. “Are you going to eat anything before you leave? You’ve been getting ready for hours.”

“I hasn’t been hours,” Tony argued. Goddamn, his old man was doing a damn good job with the overbearing parent thing; he was actually starting to get genuinely annoyed. “And I’ll be fine; Bruce and I going to have dinner afterw--” the boy stopped, realizing his father had pulled one over him. He shot his antecedent a petulant glare, “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Howard answered innocently. Tony just rolled his eyes and grumbled again, pulling his Megadeth hoodie over his head.

“...So you're really wearing that...?" Howard asked, successfully eliciting another glare from his offspring. The older man shrugged. "Well alright."

Tony scoffed, spreading his arms out to the sides, "The Hell is wrong with what I'm wearing? It's clean."

"Nothing at all," Howard backpedaled, hands up defensively, "Nothing's wrong with it unless you've got your heart set on getting laid."

Tony shook his head, partially laughing, "Yeah, whatever you say, Howie. Somehow, I don't foresee that being a problem."

Howard’s head snapped towards his son. “What did you just call me?”

“I didn’t call you anything,” Tony mocked the older Stark.

Howard snorted, mustache ruffling. “Suit yourself, but if you're looking to keep things stagnant between the two of you the way they have been, sweatpants are a great deal more comfortable in the long term."

Tony reached up to press his face into his hands. "Dad, listen. I'm not going to dress up for this. It's not a date, no matter how much it looks or sounds like one. And I'm not gonna treat it like one if it means making Bruce uncomfortable."

Howard hummed at this new information, “Tell me this, boy. Is tonight important to both of you?"

Tony rolled his eyes, “Well duh. Of course it is."

“Then dress accordingly, boy. You're a Stark; don't misrepresent yourself." Tony rolled his eyes again, only to remember what Pepper had said on their mini-golf almost-date. Even if it wasn't a date, he could have at least bothered to wear something nice.

“Whatever. I'll take another look," he feigned a sigh, pulling the sweatshirt off and wadding it to toss in the corner as his father disappeared down the hall.

“Don't let me catch your ass leaving in dress slacks and sneakers!" Howard called back over his shoulder. “And stop by my room and pick out a watch.”

“Pssh, I make it look good," Tony mumbled to himself as he scoured his closet. It wasn’t long before he’d picked out a crimson dress shirt, coal blazer and black slacks, feeling excitement peak as the outfit came together. He knew he’d hit the nail on the head when his eyes rested on a familiar pair of as-of-yet unworn dress shoes. The corners of his mouth turned upwards slyly. Bruce was going to appreciate him dressing up after all.

\--

“There, absolutely precious!” his mother cooed as her fingers finished the knot.

Bruce frowned at his reflection in the mirror of the master bedroom and the slate blue bowtie around his neck. “Mom, is this really necessary…?” he asked with exasperation.

“Of course not, sweetie. But you said that Tony considers this a date, didn’t you? So you should look nice for him. Boys always like it when you clean up nice for them.” She fussed with the back of his collar to get it to lie flat.

The teenager inhaled sharply through his nose. Yeah, what she was saying was perfectly logical. But a vest and tie borrowed from his father’s closet? It felt stiff against his skin, taut around his neck. If the social circumstance didn’t make things feel like a date, the clothes certainly would. “Tony isn’t going to care what I look like,” he contested. At least, he was pretty sure Tony wouldn’t care. Tony hadn’t ever expressed that he cared that he could recall. _‘Overthinking...’_ he reminded himself.

“Don’t be silly; of course he will,” Rebecca dismissed.

He nibbled his lip. “How can you be so sure, Mom?”

“It’s just something I know, darling; you’re just going to have to trust me.”

Bruce sighed again. He wished he’d established with Tony whether or not they were dressing up for this… if the other teen turned out to be wearing a tee and jeans, it was going to be really embarrassing. In all the time he’d spent waffling as to whether he was going or not, he could’ve at least thought to ask that one simple but glaringly important question.

“Bruce, honey, what’s wrong?” Rebecca asked.

Bruce’s lips pursed and he looked down. “I still don’t know if I should be d-dating Tony…”

Rebecca swivelled him around by the shoulders. “Oh, sweetheart… this still? When you told me you two were going out tonight, I was so happy. I thought you’d worked through it.”

Bruce shook his head. Truth was he hadn’t. At all. Sure, maybe he’d convinced himself into _thinking_ he had. But when he’d agreed to the plans it had all come from his emotions and not his head… he missed Tony and spend some quality time like it seemed they’d done so much when they first met, and it seemed like the one and only chance to do so with how busy Tony had mysteriously been lately. He shook his head. “I just keep thinking that I need to fix myself before I get involved with him. The way I yelled at you and Dad the other night...” he trailed off.

His mother took him by the hand and guided him to sit down on the edge of the bed with her. “Bruce, let me tell you something. Your father was very mistreated growing up. Much the way you have been, in some ways.” Bruce blinked, listening attentively. She took a deep breath. “When I met him, he was still very troubled, still very angry and bitter.” She touched her son’s chin, “I knew that part of him would never fully go away.” Bruce cringed, wanting to glance away, but he still listened as she spoke. “But the last thing your father ever was was selfish. I loved him, and he allowed me to love him, even though he felt it was undeserved, he tried to earn it.” She grabbed Bruce’s hands, her voice taking on a shakier note, “If Tony wants to love you, let him. Let him _heal_ you. Maybe you can’t fix this on your own, maybe you need his help.”

Bruce didn’t fully understand where all the things his mother had just said had come from, but he nodded anyway.

Bruce glanced down at his watch. Rebecca must have seen him make the motion. “We better get going,” she said. “You’re supposed to meet Tony at the theatre at seven-fifteen.”

The boy nodded again, standing to follow.

“Alright, into Mommy’s car. Are you going to be warm enough? I don’t want you to get cold,” she grabbed a coat for herself off the coat rack on the way towards the garage.

“I should be okay,” Bruce tugged the collar away from his skin a moment in an attempt to allow his neck to breathe around the constriction. He got in the passenger’s seat as she clicked the garage door opener on the visor. As they headed down the road, Bruce found his anxiety had left him.

_Let him love you._

\--

“You can just drop me off in front,” Bruce said to his mother upon scanning the parking lot. It would seem he’d managed to get here first, as he didn’t see Tony’s mustang. Rebecca stopped the car and Bruce unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Have a good time!” his mother said, pecking his temple quickly.

“Thanks, Mom,” he let himself out.

She leaned sideways to keep eye-contact with him. “And I’ll see you around eleven?”

“Yeah,” Bruce answered. She smiled and sat back up straight. He closed the door and stood back as she drove off.

Bruce looked down at his watch again. 7:12. Tony should be here any minute. He slid his hands into his pockets and attempted not to feel too awkward. Most of the other theatre-goers were dressed casually, groups of families and their children, groups of teenage or college-age friends.

“Hey! Over here!” A faint, but familiar voice called from just beyond his periphery. He almost didn’t notice it. Bruce turned to see Tony trotting towards him from his left side, the heels of his nice shoes clacking on the pavement.

“Oh, uh, hey,” Bruce returned embarrassedly as the other boy came to a stop beside him.

“You spacing out already? I was calling for you,” Tony thumbed back in the direction he’d came. There was a smile on his face though; he wasn’t annoyed. He gave the other boy a playful nudge.

“What? No, sorry,” Bruce fumbled, jamming his pinkie into his left ear (not that it was really going to help, he knew from the past couple weeks, but that didn’t stop the instinct to do so). 

“Anyway, I parked near the side exit door,” Tony explained, “Easier to leave through there when the movie lets out rather than fighting our way out the main lobby.”

“Yeah, makes sense; good thinking,” Bruce nodded with a smile. He let his eyes trail up and down his friend now that he was close-up, feeling his heartbeat speed up just a little at the sight. It hadn’t struck him until now, but he’d never actually seen his friend in any kind of formal wear hitherto. The teen had always stuck to jeans and a tee and a hoodie and sneakers. What he was wearing now… sleek and color-coordinated. That blazer had probably been tailored-- it fit his shoulders and torso and the sleeves cut off neatly at the wrists, all in all, complimenting his already slim physique. Bruce wondered how Tony had stood still long enough for the tailor to take his measurements.

“It’s one of the few things I’m good for,” Tony joked, “That and looking pretty.” He gave a little tug of his lapels, hoping it would highlight his dresswear choice. “Speaking of, nice duds,” he threw in. His father had been right, and even if the old man would be lording it over him later it was still a relief to see that he wasn’t the only one who had chosen to dress up. While Bruce was typically on the side of formal, the extra effort was obvious.

“Not mine,” Bruce admitted, resisting the urge to tug at his collar again, as well as the urge to admit it had been entirely his mom’s idea, “But thanks. You look…” he wet his lips slowly to fill the silence as he tried to select an adjective, “well, you look good. Too. Older. In a good way,” he tripped out. Damn, he was terrible at this. But he had to keep trying. If his father had managed almost thirty years ago, he could too, he told himself resolutely.

“I’m gonna go ahead and take that as a compliment cuz I’m pretty sure that’s how you intended it. Don’t worry, this isn’t mine either,” he laughed as he lifted his left hand to pull back his cuff and show off the gold wristwatch with its face on the inside of his arm. A relieved grin formed on Bruce’s features. “So, did’ja notice?” he bounced lightly on his heels.

“Notice…” Bruce began to trail off, only to look down at his friend’s bouncing and recognize the shoes he’d had Tony buy at Christmas, “Oh, you’re wearing them. How do they feel?”

Tony felt his chest tighten upon confirmation. Of course he'd picked them deliberately for that reason, but the acknowledgement still excited him. “The pinnacle of comfort.” He looked down as he wiggled his toes inside the shoes. “And they do give off an air of ‘respectability’, to paraphrase a certain attractive genius.”

Bruce felt a smirk coming on. He drug a thumb across the underside of his lip. “Huh, that so?”

“The bangability factor is as of yet undetermined,” Tony went on, not missing a beat as he pulled open the door to the theatre and held it, motioning Bruce inward, “My hypothesis is that the value remains consistent with the results of all previous testing. I mean, let’s face it; I look good in everything,” he smirked as he broke character briefly, unable to help himself, “But I think we owe it to the scientific community to go about this the right way...”

“Should probably wait until after one or the other of us picks up the check,” Bruce couldn’t quite keep the snark at bay this time.

“Which’ll be me,” Tony said off-handedly, though it was more like he was insisting. He reached into his inner breast pocket to pull out the folded-up tickets he’d printed off at home to hand to the attendant. “Theatre six, to your right,” the employee informed them and Tony nodded. He addressed Bruce once more, “You’re still cool with dinner after, right? It’s not too much?” God, his flirting was already off the hook, but Bruce didn’t seem to be uncomfortable yet. In fact, it was reminding him a lot of before. As in, before they’d ever even kissed, when Tony had been playing that ‘I’m-hitting-on-you-but-so-not-totally-hitting-on-you-cuz-we’re-both-two-straight-dudes’ game. He waited for Bruce’s reply.

“No, it’s fine,” Bruce assured a little less than assuredly. “I mean, I figured you’d… you know… wanna make the most of tonight. While we’re already out,” he shrugged shyly. “And we _are_ dressed up.” He’d agreed to this movie-dinner-date and he was going to go through with it. All of it. From start to finish.

Tony could have purred. Things seemed to be off to a great start, even if Bruce wasn’t really considering this as a ‘real’ date. “Fantastic. Then, next question.” His grin threatened to split his face as Bruce turned to look at him curiously, “You wanna spoil said dinner with a bag of gummy worms and an over-priced soda?”

The big guy chuckled. “Yeah, sure.” The two of them proceeded over to the line in front of the concession stand. Tony was obviously scanning the menu for possible additions, his eyes somewhat squinted. Bruce observed him with a slight smile. Normally his self-consciousness would have prevented it, but he couldn’t resist the urge to lean in and quickly place a kiss on his neck.

Tony slapped his hand over the spot. “What-- what was that for?” he chuckled softly, a little beside himself.

Bruce shrugged and turned to face front again as they moved up in line. Before Tony could question it further, he felt the big guy’s hand slip into his. His eyes bulged. This wasn’t supposed to be any different than their regular outings, was it? Okay, obviously apart from the dressing up. That was new and different and totally weird but turned out to be awesome. Otherwise tonight was just a move to compensate for all the time they’d missed since Tony had gotten a job. But if Bruce was _holding his hand_... “Hey, big guy?”

“Yeah?”

He scooched closer to mumble out the side of his mouth, “Uh… friends on movie nights don’t usually hold hands… I mean, girls maybe do sometimes, but their social rules are kind of different and…”

“Aren’t-- Aren’t we on a date?” Bruce looked for clarification, “Am I not supposed to…?” His grip laxed as if to let go.

“No, no, that’s…” Tony only got so far with his answer, too floored to make sense of the switcheroo that had just occurred. “Holy shit. I didn’t think you wanted this to _be_ a date, big guy.” He gave Bruce’s hand a reciprocating squeeze to punctuate the statement.

“I know that you wanted… yeah,” Bruce didn’t finish; he uncurled and recurled his fingers around the meat of Tony’s palm, getting used to the sensation of contact for contact’s sake. “I thought you thought… That is… I’m okay with it. I…” he studied the ground, “I _want_ it to be a date.”

Tony felt his heart soar. “Well that’s… I… I’m glad to hear it,” he finally settled. God, he felt like attacking Bruce’s face right here and now, PDA be damned.

The big guy gave a nervous chuckle at his date’s enthusiasm. “I’ve never done this before though. So, you might have to kind of… um… help me out. Sorry.”

“Ah! No apologies!” Tony warned. “Don’t sweat it. Dates are easy. Trust me.” Tony gave a dismissive hand gesture.

The big guy seemed somewhere between unconvinced and amused. “Yeah? Do you owe that hypothesis to previous testing as well?”

The billionaire’s son flashed a smirk that screamed 'I’m so pleased with myself' before continuing, “Not just. But you are in _very_ capable hands.” He brought his hands up to tug his lapels, “I take you out to a movie, we sit together. Maybe sneak in a kiss or two during the flick. We have dinner, go back to your place, you invite me in for coffee or tea or whatever, we talk, cuddle, fool around a little maybe. And if we both have fun, we trade numbers, text later, and then lather, rinse, repeat…”

“Half of that sounds like stuff we already do," Bruce said.

_‘Oh my sweet Jesus, he’s finally getting it.’_ Tony had to resist a difficult impulse to give the most emphatic ‘DUH’ on earth, instead straightening his tie. “So, should be easy. Like I said. You’re doing fine already, big guy. Hell, I’ll even open your doors for you if you want the full experience,” he tacked on teasingly. The people in front of them moved away from the counter; Tony approached it. “Hey, bag of gummy worms and a large Coke.”

“For two dollars more you can make it a combo and get a large popcorn too,” the cashier offered.

“Why the Hell not?” Tony shrugged, pulling out his wallet. He paid and the two of them collected their goodies and moved towards theatre six. “Up front or towards the back?” Tony asked as they proceeded into the dimly lit room. It wasn’t too packed, so they had options.

“Closer to the screen works for me,” Bruce decided and Tony led the way to a mostly vacant row. Bruce caught his arm as he was about to scoot in. “Uhh… let me sit to your left,” he said. He was going to have a difficult time hearing Tony’s lowered voice, should he try to talk to him during the movie, if he sat on his right.

Tony’s eyebrow raised inquiringly. “Uh, okay,” he replied, sliding in two seats instead of just one. He glanced briefly at the aisle seat Bruce was going to be occupying. “Don’t tell me you’re a flight risk,” he teased.

“No, just…” the reason stayed withheld on the tip of his tongue. They both plopped down; Tony put the soda in the drink holder beside him before tucking the arm between the two of them up and away. Bruce blinked in surprise as his date snuggled up to his side. “I didn’t even know they could retract like that.”

“Don’t read too much into it, I’ve just been to this theater before,” Tony responded, plunging his hand into the popcorn bucket in Bruce’s lap. The big guy lifted an eyebrow at the implication that there may be a reason to be jealous of Tony’s knowledge of said feature. “So you having fun yet?” Tony ribbed, taking better advantage of the the placement of the popcorn bucket the second time around and nuzzling Bruce’s neck briefly as he grabbed another handful.

Bruce felt his skin heat; he resisted the compulsion to turn around in his seat to see if anyone was looking. He should’ve realized this would happen and factored it in when he’d been making the decision to sit in front or in back. “I get the feeling you are,” he chuckled back.

“Pfft, what’s that supposed to mean?” Tony replied, trying for innocent and failing, “I’m right-handed, Mr. Left Seat.”

“Uh huh,” Bruce spoke unconvincedly, but he was smiling. The theatre lighting dimmed overhead. He took the opportunity to quickly peck the other boy on the temple as the screen lit up with the previews.

“So, uh…” Tony whispered halfway through some obscure trailer for a Notebook-esque romance drama he wasn’t interested in, “I’m, uh, really glad you decided to go out of a date with me. I mean even though I only found out it was a date last minute...”

“I guess I just kind of figured it was when you asked me,” Bruce answered as he tucked a couple kernels of popcorn in his mouth.

Tony scoffed quietly, “You set boundaries. Like I’m gonna be a dick and ask you out anyway?”

“Well,” Bruce answered, for once not missing a single beat, “I do seem to recall a certain detention where you told me ‘you and the word no didn’t get along well’...”

“We didn’t get along well back then either,” Tony defended, chuckling a little thinking back to that day, “Of course you were kind of an asshole, and I was too charming for you to handle…”

“I don’t think that’s an altogether accurate depiction,” Bruce commented amusedly.

“Totally accurate, babe. I was there,” Tony dismissed casually. “Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that...” he stopped and resumed, “I didn’t expect it. And it’s… well, a really nice surprise.”

Bruce was sure he was blushing from the moment the endearment left his date’s lips, but already he could _sense_ what his mom had been talking about. Just letting Tony love him, without all the pulling back and retreating he’d been doing for months. “You’re welcome,” he answered.

A moment or two passed quietly. “Coke?” Tony offered, bringing the cup halfway between them. Bruce leaned in instinctively to sip at the straw, which was when Tony pulled the bait away to steal a playful kiss. “Ugh, you taste like popcorn…” Tony teased as he pulled back.

“You’re _eating_ popcorn--”

Tony ignored Bruce’s questioning of the hypocrisy and simply sealed their lips back together again.

The lights dimmed completely then, indicating that the previews were over and it was nearly time for the feature presentation. The two of them detached, perhaps even self-consciously. After all, they were both making out with their boyfriend in a public place, which was new to both of them. Bruce murmured softly, “Thanks for asking me out, even if you weren’t meaning to, hon. I am having a good time.”

“I bet the shameless snogging helps,” Tony commented snarkily. “But you bet, big guy. If I knew you’d say yes I would’ve done it earlier,” he replied sincerely, words soon replaced with the jolly jingle of ‘let’s all go to the lobby’, alongside the marching cartoon concession items on-screen. “Hey, you ever notice how they play this, like, literally ten seconds before the movie starts? Seriously who the fuck has time to run back out and buy snacks?”

“The Flash?” Bruce tried.

Tony narrowed his eyes, “What did I say about DC superheroes?”

“I thought you said The Flash was cool,” Bruce defended.

Tony let out a sigh, “ _Kind of_. I said he was _kind of_ cool. The guy’s red and yellow and has super speed, so he’s basically the ‘Stang. That’s practically cheating.” The list of companies involved in production began appearing on-screen. “Okay, okay, shh, it’s starting!”

“But you were the one talking…” Bruce whispered.

“Shh!” Tony repeated, leaning more heavily into Bruce’s side.

The boy wet his lips; Tony had almost completely pinned his right arm between them. He tugged it free before snaking it behind his date’s head to rest on his shoulders, pulling him close again. Tony purred.

\--

His arm stayed there until the credits rolled. The empty popcorn bucket now sat on the floor beside his feet, the more-melted-ice-than-soda in the cupholder beside him, and Tony’s head nestled contentedly in the crook of his shoulder.

As the lights queued back up in the theater, Tony reluctantly shifted out of his embrace and stood to stretch exaggeratedly, “Okay well that was funny, awesome and cute all wrapped into one.” He turned to address Bruce who was still seated, rubbing his shoulder fondly right where Bruce’s arm had been laying, “What’d you think?”

“Um…” Bruce began eloquently, standing as well and picking up their trash. “It was interesting. Kind of a… ‘love conquers all’ theme, even though it referenced Romeo and Juliet in several ways, what with the ‘feud’ between humans and zombies and the ‘forbidden love’ aspect.”

“I was looking for what you thought, not an essay,” Tony blew a raspberry. “But yeah. It’s nice they got to live happily ever after in this case. Even though, you know,” he chuckled, “R was technically dead to begin with. They still pulled that whole suicide thing. I mean not literally, but that whole leap of faith into the water? Totally could’ve killed both of them, so I’m pretty sure it still counts.”

Bruce nodded in agreement as he tossed the junk in the trash can on their way past. “Yeah, depends on how far they fell and if they’d reached terminal velocity as to whether or not they should’ve survived.”

“Oh, so now you want to dip into the science side of things?” Tony smirked at his partner.

“Are you implying you don’t?” Bruce shot back, slipping his hand back into Tony’s as they moved toward the glowing green EXIT sign, along with the other movie-goers. “We don’t have to.”

Tony practically sighed with delight, leaning into Bruce. He’d missed this banter of theirs. The playful arguing, as opposed to real arguing they’d been doing so much of as of late. “No, no, we _have_ to now. You can’t go backing out.”

“Alright,” Bruce indulged. “But the movie began where most zombie movies end. After the outbreak had claimed thousands of lives.”

“Yeah, no, I know,” Tony said, “How they got that way isn’t really relevant. But what _is_ relevant is the reversal of the process. In terms of ‘un-zombification’, let’s call it, I’m sure there had to have been a scientific explanation, they just didn’t touch on it.”

Bruce tipped his head. “I felt like that was addressed. The stimulus was strong positive emotion. When they experienced or witnessed love, their hearts resumed beating and they became human again.”

The billionaire’s son chuckled. “Yeah, but in the _real_ world, love doesn’t bring people back from the dead. So not exactly a scientific explanation there.”

“True,” Bruce acquiesced. “So, for dinner… does Denny’s sound alright?” he asked.

“No objections here,” Tony said, squeezing Bruce’s hand in his, getting the exit door with his free hand.

“Cool,” Bruce answered, his other hand instinctively going for his breast pocket now that they were outside, only to get the reminder that what he was reaching for had been confiscated by his mom. “Hey, Tony? Do you mind if we make a quick detour to the mini mart?”

“The Denny’s isn’t that far away,” Tony answered.

“That’s not…” Bruce began, transitioning into clearing his throat. “I just need to pick something up.”

“Well sure, you just had to say so,” Tony supplied. Grinning, he couldn’t resist an old, but near-to-his-heart joke. He genuflected as they’d reached the car, gesturing towards it with one arm, “Your carriage…”

“Awaits, yeah, yeah,” Bruce finished with a roll of his eyes, chuckling. He pulled open the passenger side door and took a seat.

Tony returned to his feet and rounded the car, vaulting over the driver’s side door (a little less easy in slacks and a blazer, but still plenty doable). “Alright, since this is your first date, you can pick the music,” he instructed, slipping the key into the ignition and turning, listening to the engine roar to life. Fighting back his grin he pulled out of his parking space and drove off in the direction of the aforementioned mini mart.


	62. Chapter 62

“I’ll be right back,” Bruce said as he shut the mustang door.

“No rush. Denny’s isn’t going anywhere, as far as I know,” Tony teased.

The bell above the door jingled as he pushed inside. He paused momentarily to get his bearings and moved directly for the check-out counter. The fellow running it had his nose in a magazine, not paying attention. Bruce eyed the selection in the case behind the man. “Hey, uh, can I get a pack of Marlboro Smooths? Regulars.”

The guy looked up. “Oh yeah. Sure.” He turned to retrieve said brand. “Anything else I can get you?” Bruce shook his head. “That’ll be $5.84. ID?”

Bruce wet his lips. “Yeah, of course.” He removed his wallet from his back pocket. Lucky his mom hadn’t known about it too or she’d probably have made him hand it over as well. A little cloud of guilt built quickly over his head. His mom probably thought, naively, that by taking away his pack that it would stop him altogether, rather than just set him back a few bucks. He gave the ID card to the gentleman, numbly fishing out a five-dollar bill and a one. A few more months from now and that wouldn’t matter either; he’d be legally old enough to purchase them without the phony ID. What would she say if she were to happen in right now? he wondered. And after the good advice she’d given him just a couple hours earlier.

Bruce let out a hard sigh. “Hey, sorry, I changed my mind. I’m…” he hooked his thumb at the door, “Yeah.” The cashier gave him an annoyed glare. Bruce coughed and quickly nabbed a pack of Doublemint gum instead, sliding the five across the counter. The man completed the transaction and Bruce awkwardly removed himself from the situation, proceeding back outside.

Tony picked his head up when he heard the door swing open again, “Get what you needed?” he called out to Bruce as he approached.

“Ah, yeah, I guess in a way…” Bruce mumbled, rubbing the back of his head as he got back into the ‘stang.

“You’re being cryptic again,” Tony said in a warning tone, “What’s up?”

Bruce drummed his fingers on the elbow rest, not very forthcoming. He and Tony had shared some of their best talks in the other teen’s car… there wasn’t really any reason to hesitate now. “My parents found out I’d been smoking,” he said at last. “Mom found a bunch of butts out in the yard I didn’t remember to pick up.”

_‘Oh.’_ Tony’s eyes bugged out. He quickly forced them back to regular size, “Oh.” He feigned coolness. “Well, they let you go out with me tonight, so obviously they didn’t _ground_ you,” the billionaire’s son deduced easily (and thank God because once had been more than enough). “So what happened?”

Bruce gave an uneasy chuckle. “Nothing much, honestly.” It baffled him that so little punishment had come from the whole affair. “I blew a fuse when Dad came in to talk to me though…”

“Blew a fuse? As in… what exactly?” Tony needed the clarification, since he’d seen Bruce’s anger boil over in person quite a few times, in varying degrees, “You didn’t sock him in the face, did you?”

“No, but… well, I guess I came close.” Bruce rubbed at the back of his head again, embarrassed to be admitting to the lack of self-control he’d had in that rage-induced moment. “A-anyway…” he attempted to direct the conversation elsewhere, “I was gonna buy a new pack to replace the one Mom took, but I guess I decided not to,” he trailed off with a non-committal gesture towards the mini mart.

Tony hummed to himself. Not a happy hum, or a sad hum, but one of simple acknowledgement. Maybe that was better for the both of them. “Well good. Saying no to something can be a lot harder in practice. I would know,” he chuckled. “So, yeah, good for you, resisting the call and all.” He gave the other teen’s shoulder a light punch.

Bruce smiled a little at the praise. It was a night for positive changes, so it seemed. “So… Denny’s then?” he prompted, eager to get back to their date.

Tony felt the impulse to sling an arm around Bruce’s shoulder and gave in to it, planting a kiss on the big guy’s lips once he’d been pulled in, “Yeah, let’s go.”

\--

Tony was halfway through his Grand Slam but his focus wasn’t singularly on his meal. As much as the night had been absolutely, 110% perfect, something about the way Bruce was acting was throwing him off. And it wasn’t, oddly enough, the typical awkwardness that came from shining a spotlight on the status of their relationship. _That_ Tony would’ve expected. It was little quirks in Bruce’s behavior that had been becoming more and more prominent, ones that he couldn’t make heads nor tails of.

He knew he hadn’t been imagining it when he saw Bruce nearly jump for the booth seat that had his right side facing the waitress. The only question was how he could bring it up, or even if he should. He took a swig of his orange juice and opted to ignore it. “So…” he started, never without a subject for conversation, “I’m glad you and Legolas are getting along. Honestly didn’t see that one coming.”

“Oh yeah…” Bruce found himself chuckling; he hadn’t anticipated Tony bringing Clint up. “I guess we are. He’s not all that… intellectual, but…” Bruce cleared his throat and stuffed a forkful of hashbrowns in his mouth, “he’s well-intentioned.”

“Well-intentioned?” Tony snorted, taking a bite of toast before continuing, “Not the first adjective I’d pick, but I guess I’ll trust your judgement.” He paused for a second, “Either way, does this mean you’ll be present for the next Tarantin-a-thon?”

“Heh, yeah, I suppose…” Bruce agreed. “I won’t have an excuse not to.”

“Good; I might need a little extra muscle to keep him from skipping out next time,” Tony suggested, “I mean, I’m not saying you two shouldn’t still get together by yourselves. Or that you and I shouldn’t get together by ourselves. Just... yeah.” He crammed the last portion of toast into his mouth. Smooth. Real smooth.

Bruce nodded absently. “Clint was just going through a low,” he said, not sure whether or not Tony would really get it, but he was explaining anyway, “He wasn’t taking his break-up with Natasha well.”

“Understandable. I mean she’s with Pepper now; that’s definitely gotta sting,” Tony said, gesturing with his fork, “It’d be one thing if it were another guy. If she’s not even in the market for a dude anymore, how the Hell is he supposed to compete?”

“Well, I suggested he start treating her more like a person,” Bruce shrugged. He actually hadn’t gotten the update from Barton how that recent chat had gone. He mostly assumed that meant it had gone well, otherwise Clint would’ve called him up asking to go skydiving or something else that was questionably safe. That seemed to be the way he coped with his problems.

Tony hummed at that, “I think you’d have better luck convincing Artemis to follow her example and take a dude to bed.” Bruce only snorted and resumed eating. “Don’t get any ideas,” Tony warned, pointing the sharp prongs of his fork his way, “Last thing I need is you coming down with freaking bird flu.” He snickered to himself.

“I’ll be sure to get my booster shots first,” Bruce joked back wryly. He folded his hands together, taking a more serious tone. “I think Clint has the capacity to approach life with more maturity. He just needs incentive. I think Natasha could be that incentive for him. If she gives him another chance.”

Tony felt his tongue search the inside of his mouth, feeling like sort of an ass now for his prior ridiculing comments. Especially since he himself wasn’t always the pinnacle of maturity-- case in point. “That’s… that’s actually really cool that you have that kind of faith in him,” he said.

Bruce pushed up his glasses. “He and I have some things in common. I’d like to see him… get better and improve his life.”

Tony nodded. He could understand now why Clint had stopped hanging out with him and started hanging out with Bruce as of late.

Bruce chewed his last strip of bacon. “Oh, uh, while we’re on the subject of other people…” he began, “I uh, might be having a study session or two… for my Conceptual Physics class. Tuesdays.”

“Cool, cool,” Tony nodded, though he wondered why Bruce would need any additional assistance with his coursework as brilliant as he was, “I’m not keeping you from your studies too much, am I?”

“All the studying in the world probably wouldn’t get me an A from this guy,” Bruce shook his head. “But… that’s what the study session is for, I guess,” he shrugged.

“Sucky thing is, teachers can be miserable pricks no matter how good you are.”

Bruce nodded. He took his last bite and pushed his plate away an inch or two. Tony lifted an eyebrow temptingly, “Want dessert?”

“Didn’t we have that at the movie theatre?” Bruce chuckled.

Tony’s grin split his face in two as he leaned across the table to murmur salaciously. “You assume I was talking about something edible...”

\--

“God it’s stuffy in here now,” Tony commented, rising from the bed.

Bruce hummed, propping his hands behind his head to glance admiringly at his naked partner. “You could open the window.”

“Mm, nuh uh, no good,” Tony turned a couple circles in the middle of the other boy’s bedroom, seeming preoccupied. “Wouldn’t cool down fast enough.” He rifled through his overnight bag for a pair of fresh boxers and his jeans.

“It’s too warm, so you’re getting dressed?” Bruce stated in the form of a question. Though he imagined there was some explanation for the behavior, sometimes Tony’s mouth worked ahead of his mind and sometimes it went the other way round.

“There’s this little thing called ‘Public Indecency’?” Tony lilted as he stepped into the garments. “Really unfortunate, I know, cuz you’d probably waltz around all over in the buff if you could.”

“Hmm…” was the only response Bruce had to that, shutting his eyes and relaxing deeper into his mattress.

Next thing he knew, Tony was hovered over him, pouty lower lip protruding as he tugged his arm. “C’mon, big guy, let’s go for a walk.”

“Alright, alright,” Bruce consented, shaking his arm loose. He rose lumberingly and squinted first for his glasses, only to have his boyfriend toss a pair of pants and a shirt into his arms the moment he’d slipped the stalks over his ears.

Tony inhaled deeply the moment they made it out to the porch. “Ahhh, much better already.”

Bruce pulled his jacket closer against his neck, fishing into the pockets and removing a stick of gum. “So, where are we walking to?” he asked, beginning to chew.

“The levee’s not too far from here,” Tony commented, already headed in that direction. “Let’s pay it a visit. For old times sake.”

The two of them set out. The sky was clear, which made it a little chilly, but also presented them with a decent view of the stars. Even if the moonlight washed them out a bit, Tony felt it was a better backdrop for their stroll, and he still got practice locating the constellations by naked eye and pointing when he’d found them.

His other hand didn’t leave Bruce’s. It was a warm point of contact and a pleasant reminder of what tonight had changed. Unlike their last stargazing mishap, tonight, at long last, the two of them were boyfriends. Tony sighed contentedly. He squeezed Bruce’s hand. His right hand. Maybe Tony was reading into this too much, but this was starting to look like a pattern. “So, uh… I packed my 360 in my overnight bag. Just in case you wanted something else to do tomorrow morning.”

“Something else?” Bruce chuckled, questioning his date’s word choice.

“Head out of the gutter,” Tony warned, elbowing his friend lightly, ”Anyway, speaking of 360, Dead Space 3 is supposed to come out on the 5th and it’s got co-op. Interested? I could pick up a copy.”

“Sure, but I haven’t played one or two,” Bruce answered.

“Not important. All you need to know is that it’s about dismembering mutant zombie alien things in space,” he gestured upward at the starry sky as he explained, “That’s literally it. Oh, and there’s usually some transparent ally character who ends up stabbing you in the back near the end, but whatever. I don’t want to spoil the whole game for you.”

“So, you’re telling me that all three games are essentially the same, in gameplay and in plot, and you’re still going to shell out $60 for it?” There was that contrary Bruce he loved so much, arguing for the sake of arguing. Tony grinned. Well, he wasn’t gonna let him win this one any easier than any other time.

“They aren’t the _exact_ same, Bruce,” Tony put on a hurt face, “This new one has co-op.” The sound of a car steadily approaching threatened to break his concentration. Bruce didn’t seem to notice. “But hey, you know what, I’ll go ahead and buy one and two along with three to prove it to you, and then I’ll be spending $180. Would that make you feel better?” He took a careful step to the right as he continued walking, about to mutter a “Watch out.” before Bruce replied, cutting him off.

“I’m only saying, couldn’t the developers have just released a downloadable add-on to the original to--” the rest of what he’d been going to say was lost as Tony yanked him away from the edge of the sidewalk. Only three seconds later did a Mercedes blow past at _at least_ twice the posted limit, the air displacement created by it knocking them both a step forward. Bruce’s eyes widened in slight alarm as it dawned on him how close the car would’ve travelled to him had Tony not pulled him further onto the sidewalk; he could’ve even been struck by the side mirror.

Tony let go of Bruce’s hand and chased after the speeding vehicle for several strides. “This is a fucking residential street, asshole!” Yeah, okay, so maybe he shouldn’t be the one talking, considering his driving history, but he certainly didn’t ever hug the curb like it just came back from a war. He whipped around to address his friend, who was still standing in shocked silence, “He almost clipped you! How did you not hear him coming?!”

“I… I heard but,” Bruce swabbed at his left ear absently, “It didn’t sound like he was that close.”

Tony inhaled roughly, shaking his head. He wasn’t even going to bother tackling that excuse. It was bullshit and they both knew it. “Something’s up. You’ve been doing this all evening, and don’t insult my intelligence by trying to say you haven’t.”

Bruce sighed, slipping his hands into his pockets. He’d been hoping Tony wouldn’t notice, but with their prolonged proximity this evening it hadn’t been possible to effectively hide it. “I’m not going to lie, Tony,” he delivered with a deadpan. “I didn’t notice it myself at first, but… I lost some hearing in my left ear. After… well, after my dad hit me.” He turned his head to look away. “I didn’t bring it up because I kind of figured it would go away on its own,” he shrugged.

Tony let out an aggravated sigh. Was that when it happened? Well that made it even worse. Not only had he hardly been around to notice sooner, but it was a safe assumption that Bruce hadn’t only been hiding it from him. “Bruce… that was weeks ago.” The implications of that statement hung between them in the chilled air.

“Yeah, I know…” Bruce mumbled, still not meeting his friend’s eyes.

“So why haven’t you gotten it looked at?” Tony asked.

Bruce exhaled, shifting on his feet. “I didn’t want to invite more questions. My mom thinks the whole thing was a Jiu Jitsu accident. If I go see an otologist, do you think she’s not going to figure out it was more than that?”

“Well she didn’t call the pagoda or whatever to complain when you told her that, did she?” Tony asked, but now he was starting to in some small way understand his friend’s conundrum, “I mean I’m sure she could always change her tune if she found out you had hearing damage…” And if the woman went asking Bruce’s Jiu Jitsu instructor, she was bound to discover there hadn’t been any accident involving her son at all. Tony scratched his chin with an ‘ehhh’, coming to a hesitant conclusion, “You’re not gonna like this…”

“Just say it…” Bruce grumbled.

Tony cringed. Moral grey areas aside, this was the best suggestion he could make. “Well, your dad did it to you. If you’re concerned with keeping things peaceful at home… maybe he’s the one you need to talk to about seeing a doctor.”

Bruce’s spine stiffened and jaw clenched. The very thought of approaching his old man on the subject made his heart rate spike. But it _was_ the solution. If he wanted to keep the whole mess a secret from his mother, it was the only way.

“Big guy,” Tony frantically tried to follow up in absence of an answer; by now he was well-acquainted with the warning signs of a triggered Bruce. “I’m just saying, it-- it covers all the bases. And it’s not like he can say no or anything. You’re his kid. I mean it’s practically blackmail, if that makes you feel any better.”

“That’s not…” Bruce started to dismiss before dropping it with an exhale. “Fuck,” he muttered, dragging his fingernails across his scalp. “I hate you for being right on this one.”

Tony couldn’t help the snort that escaped his throat, “I don’t know how to feel about that, but I’m just gonna say ‘you’re welcome’ anyway.”

“I’ll bring it up with him as soon as he gets back,” Bruce promised with a heavy sigh.

“Wait,” Tony said on automatic, an eyebrow climbing its way up his forehead, “Your dad’s still out of town on his trip? Hasn’t it been like a week?”

“Yeah,” Bruce answered remotely.

Tony gnawed at his lip. He wasn’t going to voice aloud the thought that had surely already crossed his buddy’s mind several times. He coughed and grabbed for his partner’s hand to bring him to a gentle stop, “Well hey, just means we don’t have to dodge him tomorrow, right?”

The other boy chuckled, turning into Tony and nuzzling him briefly. “Assuming my mom gives us any time to ourselves? She’s missed you almost as much as I have,” he chuckled.

“Oh I think she will,” Tony returned smugly, urging Bruce to sit down with him on the curb. “Remember: She’s going to want grandchildren one day.”

Bruce caught his laugh too late. “I think science is going to need awhile to catch up,” he mumbled out on the other teen’s lips.

Tony hummed, accepting the kiss happily. “Not as long as you’d think…” he got out before diving back onto the other’s lips, talking between snatches, “I hear stem cell… mmm... research is going to one day… facilitate same-sex repro… duction…” He let his hand wander to Bruce’s leg, squeezing his thigh as the other boy cupped the back of his head to kiss harder. Fuck, okay, that was nice. Tony changed the tilt of his head to reciprocate the vigor. He drew back, sifting his fingers through Bruce’s hair. “You know I wasn’t mad cuz you didn’t tell me, right? I care about you, Bruce. A fuck-ton.”

“Is that metric fuck-tons or just standard tons?” Bruce quipped momentarily before the look in Tony’s eyes caused sentiment to win over. “Yeah, Tony, I know. It’s fine. I’m… I’m glad you care about me.” His hand slipped back into Tony’s and he gestured his shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get back to my place.”

Tony resisted, slightly. “Don’t want to go all the way to levee?”

Bruce shrugged. “I only really go there when there’s something really bothering me.” He looked at Tony meaningfully. “Tonight there’s nothing wrong.”

That made Tony’s smile return in full force.


	63. Chapter 63

_‘Hey, Tuesdays will work fine for me.’_

_‘Oh, great! So do you want to make our first session tomorrow?’_

_‘Sure.’_

_‘Here’s my address:_  
1200 Sundance Villa Blvd.  
Apt 234  
See you then!’ 

Bruce double-checked the supplied address as he came to a stop at the intersection stop light before sliding his phone back into his pocket. Having confirmed with Tony about the whole study session thing, he’d texted his TA yesterday to let her know he was still interested. Just his luck that she was available before the first big test of the semester hit-- the one that could save his grade or solidify a mere above-average one. He hadn’t scored an overall B in a class since middle school. Bruce was so distracted he almost didn’t notice the light change to green; sheepishly he puttered forward and signalled his way into the parking lot.

As it turned out, Jessica lived in an apartment close to the community college. It was a modest complex, certainly nothing too costly in terms of monthly payment, but it sufficed as what it was-- primarily student housing. For Bruce, as he found a place to park his moped, it did bring into relief the age gap between he and the TA. She was living on her own and making just enough to scrape by, out from her parents’ wings. That independence alone probably made any hardship more than worth it.

Bruce studied the numeration on the doors long enough to determine which direction to head to get to Jessica’s apartment. He climbed a flight of stairs and found himself in front of 234. A weird sense of self-consciousness washed over him in the instant he lifted his hand to knock. Was this weird that he’d been invited to her place to study? They probably could have met somewhere on campus. This was probably more comfortable and casual though. Casting the thoughts aside, he rapped his knuckles against the door.

It was answered only a moment later. “Hey, you made it,” Jessica greeted with a smile. She stepped aside. “Come on in. Sorry the place is a total disaster area; I’m not a very good housekeeper.” She laughed.

Bruce scanned the inside as he entered, an eyebrow lifting on his forehead as he took it in. It was cringe-worthy. Old containers from food or purchases were strewn about, books, magazines and old junk mail were piled into haphazard stacks and stuffed off into corners. All of it could likely be tidied with a day or more’s dedication, but the dedication was lacking. All he could think was this was definitely what Tony’s apartment would look like if he had one. “It’s alright,” he assured, though he didn’t even know where to set his bag, “I have other messy friends.”

Jessica gave him a look over her shoulder. “I bet your place is spotless, huh?” She cleared a space for him to sit, dumping the clutter formerly on the cushion of the couch to the floor without any thought for its organization, assuming it had had any.

“I _try_ to keep organized,” Bruce voiced, not wanting to insult her hospitality nonetheless. He stepped over the pile and took the seat.

“Uh huh. So can I get you a drink?” Jessica asked as she made her way to her kitchen. She pulled open the fridge, rummaging around as she listed off options, “I’ve got Sprite, Coke… there’s… what _is_ this? Ugh.” Bruce noticed her push whatever she’d found to the back rather than deal with it. “Hansen’s, Keystone…” The girl paused a moment in thought, turning to look at him again. “But you’re not old enough to drink, huh?”

Bruce cleared his throat. “I drink.”

“Huh...” the TA bobbed her head almost as if she hadn’t predicted that one.

“I’ll just take a Coke though,” Bruce answered, “Thanks.”

Jessica smirked as she returned, a Coke in either hand. She set his down on some magazine that’s water-damaged cover spoke to the fact she’d misplaced her coasters long ago and hadn’t yet bothered to find them or buy replacements.

“So you’re from the high school?” the TA asked as she sat down beside him and popped the aluminum top on her beverage.

One thing Bruce was already beginning to notice about Jessica was that she phrased a lot of things in the form of a question, even if it was clear she had a hunch prior to asking. He scratched his cheek. “Yeah, Westmore. I uh… I used to go to Glendale though.” She hadn’t guessed which after all.

Jessica took a big swig of her soda. “Who’d you hit?”

Bruce stared at her in askance. “Why would you think…”

“Come on,” the TA waved her hand. “I saw that black eye you were sporting a few weeks ago. You get in fights a lot, tough guy?” She grinned at him and he saw more than curiosity in her eyes.

Bruce dropped his gaze, rubbing his knuckles. “It’s something I’ve been trying to cut back on.” He barely knew the girl sitting next to him, but he was compelled to confide in her to a degree. “I hit a few people. None who deserved it.”

“You have a temper.” For once it was a statement and not another question.

He marvelled a moment. “How did…?”

“I have a sense for these kinds of things,” Jessica said. “I can kind of glimpse people’s auras. I know, I know, that sounds mystical and non-scientific, but it’s true. I guess the closest thing you could think of it as would be like the pheromones bugs and animals put off, like a sixth sense sorta thing,” she shrugged. “Your aura is one of the most interesting I’ve come across in awhile.”

Bruce wet his lips but didn’t know what to respond with.

“So Conceptual Physics…!” the TA declared, reaching out to set down her drink and withdraw the textbook from an already teetering stack on the coffee table. “You came for a study session, and I’m going to get you that A.”

Bruce nodded, thankful for the change in subject. He leaned forward to grab his drink, only to yank his arm back violently when he saw a giant spider sitting a foot away from it.

“Argo! You’re scaring Bruce!” Jessica laughed, reaching out with both hands open and facing upward. “Come here, sweetie.” She made a couple of kissing noises with her lips and the tarantula climbed into her palms. Bruce made a face at the asymmetrical way its eight hairy legs moved to carry its body forward, now crawling its way up her arm. “Sorry about that,” Jessica smiled. “She’s really quite sweet. You want to pet her?”

Bruce watched the fuzzy, eight-eyed creature with concealed disgust. “That’s okay.”

“You sure?” Jessica prodded, bringing the spider up close to her face and turning it around to face her guest. “Lookit dose eyes…” she cooed out in baby-speak; Bruce stared unconvincedly at the thing’s beady black eyes. “Just one widdle pet? C’mon, Boose…!”

At her further urging, the boy tentatively extended his index finger to stroke the top of the arachnid’s carapace. After a moment he drew it away and cleared his throat. “Uhh, there we go,” he concluded.

Jessica grinned a mile wide and hopped up from her seat. “I’ll put her in her cage for now while we study; have to remember to feed her her meal worms later.” She placed Argo in the glass enclosure filled with woodchips. “Alright!” she plopped back down on the couch and opened the textbook. “So, the thing about this professor is that he’s a stickler on computations. As you may have noticed,” she added sarcastically.

“Yeah,” Bruce returned with a grumpy downturn of lips; he leaned down to unzip his backpack and appropriate his spiral notebook from the class as well as his homework assignments.

“I mean, the whole _point _of Conceptual Physics is that it’s _conceptual_ ,” Jessica went on, rolling her eyes, “and yet he seems to expect the whole class to back up their answers with proofs and equations.” She motioned exasperatedly.__

__“It’s ridiculous,” Bruce agreed whole-heartedly. “If I wanted to implement algorithms and solve things mathematically, I’d be in Computational Physics.”_ _

__“Exactly!” Jessica threw up her arms. The two of them shared a good laugh. When Bruce felt the laughter dissolve from his chest, he finished off with a cough and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Professors. Am I right?” she spoke candidly. The teenage boy nodded, giving her a grin. “Anyway,” Jessica went on, “when I was taking the course, I managed to develop a method that fairly consistently returned an A. Lemme see your homework; I’ll show you the kind of changes I mean. Never mind that your work is basically flawless already; guy has to be a fucking nutjob giving you a B of any kind. It’s like some people get off on being hard asses.”_ _

__Bruce did so. For the next several minutes she detailed specific examples of where he could improve and picked problems similar to those he’d previously had trouble with out of the textbook to have him try with the new methods in mind. He was even actually starting to feel a good bit more confident. “I wanted to say…” he began; Jessica’s eyes turned to him and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “That is… um.” Wow, he was really fumbling now and he didn’t even know why. “Thanks,” he finally just got out, “For doing this for me. I know a lot of TAs charge for study sessions and… ah…”_ _

__Jessica laughed, grabbing him by the shoulder to shake him up a little. “Relax! I don’t charge cuz I like doing it. At least for the few who really appreciate it-- you know, appreciate the _subject_.”_ _

__The high schooler felt another chuckle rise up alongside a smile. “Yeah, it’s hard to find people who like physics for physics and who aren’t just trying to pass.”_ _

__“Ugh, yeah,” Jessica rolled her eyes, “I don’t know why they let non-physics majors take this course as a GE. Stick them in Remedial Trig or something, jeez!”_ _

__Bruce laughed again. “It’d make things a lot nicer for everyone, that’s for sure.”_ _

__“M _hm!_ ” she made the noise with full agreement. “Oh, here, give this one a try,” Jessica stubbed her forefinger down on a problem and turned the book a bit for him to see which she was pointing at. He gave it a perfunctory scan before beginning to rough out some of the preliminary work on his sheet of paper. She watched over his shoulder. “Yeah... Yeah, now you’re gettin’ it…!” she encouraged. “Keep this up and that test is as good as aced. Oh, but remember to include the units in the notes there or he’ll dock you a quarter of a point. Yup. There you go.”_ _

__The boy felt a grin coming on. “Give me another one.”_ _

__“Oh ho ho, alright, tough guy,” Jessica went flipping through the book. “Think you’re hot stuff, huh? Well try this one!”_ _

__\--_ _

__They finished up about half an hour later, winding down with some easier problems and a list of the most probable things to expect on the test so he could practice. Bruce couldn’t have been more appreciative._ _

__“So, same time, same place next week?” Jessica asked as she dumped her copy of the textbook on the top of the teetering pile on her coffee table. She leaned on a hip and smiled._ _

__“Think I’ll need it?” Bruce asked. The big test was Friday-- the only thing they’d have to study would be whatever new subject matter was presented on Monday. He pulled his backpack up onto his shoulders._ _

__His TA shrugged. “It’ll be a new section. I can give you a bit of a heads up on the stuff before the professor covers it. That way you’ll know just how to sidestep the pitfalls, huh?” Her elbow made contact with his arm._ _

__He smiled. That almost seemed like an unfair advantage. Almost. “Alright then,” he agreed. “Next Tuesday.”_ _

__Jessica saw him to the door. “Take care, tough guy.” She gave him a wink before closing the door._ _

__\--_ _

__Well, the Conceptual Physics test had gone well. At the risk of ‘jinxing it’ (which he was sure Tony would tell him was a very real thing despite a lack of scientific backing), he’d even say he’d aced it. Unfortunately, all it meant was that his anxiety found the next thing to latch onto, and that was his psychologist’s appointment._ _

__Bruce’s eyes glanced about the cozy waiting room. It had been converted from a residence, and while it was sparse, it was far from clinical. A bookshelf with magazines to choose from, an indoor plant by the windowsill, a radio playing soft tunes... all of it was meant to help put visitors at ease, Bruce was sure. Still, he couldn’t help feeling a little nervous, which was showing through the way he was tap-tapping the heel of his pennyloafer lightly on the hardwood floor. He reached up and scratched his neck, an idle but natural way to conveniently check the time on his wristwatch._ _

__A door in the back opened and a voice followed, “David Banner, I presume?”_ _

__Bruce turned to see a kindly looking older gentleman smiling at him. He chuckled a little at the turn-of-phrase as he stood to shake the man’s hand. “Yeah, that’s me. You can, uh, call me Bruce though. I don’t really go by my first name much.”_ _

__“Certainly,” the grey-haired man said agreeably. “As you know, I’m Dr. Gomez. But feel free to call me Jose if you’d like. I don’t like to stress formality with my clients.”_ _

__“Alright. Yeah, that sounds good,” Bruce responded._ _

__The doctor gestured toward his door, “Come on into my office, take a chair wherever you’d like.”_ _

__Bruce nodded a little stiffly, proceeding in ahead of the man. There were several places to sit, but he opted for the armchair rather than the couch. The psychologist closed the door behind them and took a seat in his own chair, near but not behind his work desk. “So, tell me about yourself and why you’re here to see me today,” he said as he grabbed a pen and pad of paper. Bruce took this as his cue to begin._ _

__“Well, um, I’m seventeen, living at home with my parents, and I’m a junior in highschool,” he highlighted a couple of the basics, rubbing an arm through his shirt as he did so. “I’m taking a lot of courses from the JC for college credit; I want to go on to get a doctorate and become a nuclear physicist.”_ _

__The doctor made a ‘Mmm!’ noise, “Impressive goal for a man your age. Many don’t know what they want to be so soon in life.”_ _

__Bruce chuckled a little, not sure what to do with the compliment. “Thanks…” he said awkwardly, quietly, looking away a moment before looking back. “I’ve never really thought of knowing what I wanted to do as anything… special. I know that others my age don’t know what they want to do with their careers, but I don’t feel like they’re expected to know yet.”_ _

__Dr. Gomez nodded more thoughtfully than anything else. “But you are expected to know.”_ _

__The young man blinked. “Well, yeah.”_ _

__“Why is this?” the psychologist licked his thumb and took a note._ _

__“Both my mom and dad knew what they wanted to be when they were young,” the boy shrugged._ _

__“Mm… mhm…” Dr. Gomez hummed; it seemed to be his way of vocalizing thought. “Runs in the family.”_ _

__“Yeah. I guess you could say that,” Bruce answered._ _

__“Alright. So you’re a very intelligent young man with clear-set goals for his future,” the doctor surmised. He paused a moment, peeking over the ridge of his glasses, “I guess that brings us to the question of why you’re here in my office this afternoon.”_ _

__Bruce drew in a deep breath. “I’m here because… because, I have anger issues. And… I want to get rid of them.”_ _

__“I see,” the psychologist noted, flicking his pen across the notepad in his hand before folding his hands together. “Tell me more about these anger issues you’re having. Are they frequent? When did they first begin?”_ _

__Bruce felt his self-consciousness rising, but he knew the doctor sitting across from him couldn’t help without as much information as he was able to provide. “Well, they sort of… emerged i-in middle school. I was under a lot of pressure back then. I used to be mad all the time; it… consumed me almost. A lot of kids called me a bully. And I… I got expelled once. Freshman year.” He swallowed, expecting some form of judgement or disgust from Dr. Gomez, but to his surprise none came._ _

__“Go on,” the man urged._ _

__“I got sent to a different school where no one knew me. After that it got a little better, I guess,” Bruce shrugged half-heartedly. “Or, well, I tried to get a little more control over it. I got in less fights and less trouble, but I still ended up in detention a lot.”_ _

__The psychologist hmm’d. “Ah yes, detention. The most effective rehabilitative method our schooling system has to offer our children.” There was a dry sarcasm in the words that made Bruce chuckle through the gloom he was feeling. “You said you were ‘under a lot of pressure then’. How so? Did it have anything to do with this academic expectation you mentioned?”_ _

__Bruce wet his lower lip, not sure he wanted to get into this so soon. Though he was impressed by how observant Dr. Gomez was, asking that when he’d only met him ten minutes ago. “Yeah, partially. My dad has always expected me to hold a high standard for myself. Mom too, but a little less so. That… that never really bothered me though,” he said with complete honesty. He paused, but knew Dr. Gomez was patiently waiting for the rest of what he had to say. Bruce stared down at his hands as he rubbed them together. “My mom and dad were... starting to have trouble with their relationship.”_ _

__“Mm…” now the noise the psychologist made was a sad one as he flicked his pen across the paper. He thought aloud. “Disharmony in the home is commonly stressful, particularly on children who may still be growing up. Tell me, Bruce, are your parents still together?” he asked with a tangential curiosity._ _

__“Yeah,” Bruce looked down again._ _

__“You don’t seem altogether glad,” the doctor noticed, “Are they still not getting along?”_ _

__“It’s… kind of a long, complicated story,” Bruce mumbled._ _

__Dr. Gomez smiled. He gestured toward the clock on the wall, “Well, we still have fifty minutes to our session.” Bruce couldn’t help the small chuckle that left his lips. “But I’m sensing you’d prefer to focus more on yourself at the moment,” the man went on, and Bruce nodded to confirm this. “So tell me more about the bouts of anger themselves,” Dr. Gomez leaned back in his chair once more, “What characterizes them?”_ _

__Bruce wet his lips, letting out a difficult and self-depreciating laugh. “Well… I almost always yell. At the person I’m angry at, or at nothing in particular. I… um… I get violent…” He dropped his gaze away; admitting this out loud to an almost complete stranger… he felt wretched. Disgusted with himself._ _

__“In what way?” Dr. Gomez seemed merely curious._ _

__Bruce’s fingers clutched his shirt. “I throw things. Break things.” His words came out quieter. “Hit people.”_ _

__The psychologist nodded. He leaned back in his chair a little. “Perhaps, Bruce, you could tell me about your most recent incident?”_ _

__The high schooler felt his heart pounding in his throat. “S-sure,” he said unsteadily. He thought about where to begin. “Um, well… I got in trouble. With my parents. And they sent me to my room without supper.”_ _

__“Hm. Alright.”_ _

__“M-my dad came in to talk with me after dinner,” Bruce went on, feeling more and more exposed as he did so. “I didn’t wanna talk to him, or even see him. He’s always done this thing where he ‘has a talk with me’; he reminds me that he makes the rules around the house and how I have to obey them because I’m living there. And he expects me to say ‘Yes, sir’ and ‘No, sir’.” Bruce could actually feel himself heating a little with indignance just talking about it. “And if I don’t he gets angry!”_ _

__“It sounds like he has an authoritarian parenting style,” Dr. Gomez observed from what the teenager was telling him. “That is, he expects you to follow his directions with little to no explanation, simply because he tells you to. Do you feel like that is accurate?”_ _

__Bruce nodded._ _

__“So what came of this talk?”_ _

__The teen shifted in his chair somewhat. “I don’t know. I… My dad wasn’t even being particularly _harsh_ that night,” he grasped at straws, “He’s been a lot harsher in the past and I’ve been angry afterward, sure, but this was different. It was like I just… I like _snapped_. I don’t know how else to describe it.”_ _

__“Did you yell? Get violent, as you mentioned?” Dr. Gomez asked._ _

__“Both,” Bruce nodded. “Even once my dad left it took me awhile to get ahold of myself again.”_ _

__“And this is common as well?”_ _

__“Yeah,” Bruce confirmed dully._ _

__“Typically how long does one of your outbursts last?”_ _

__The boy thought about it. “I don’t know. I guess anywhere from five to fifteen minutes. Never more than thirty.” He noticed the doctor seemed to perhaps be onto something… or at least it seemed that way. Bruce didn’t know if that made him feel better or worse._ _

__“Just for clarification,” Dr. Gomez wanted to be sure he understood entirely, “despite the fact that you do not wish to become angry or violent, and without any kind of premeditation, situations arise that trigger this ‘snap’-- as you refer to it-- and the reaction becomes, essentially, unstoppable.”_ _

__The high schoolers eyebrows lifted a touch-- he didn’t think he could have described it any better himself. “Yeah,” he nodded emphatically, “that’s exactly it.”_ _

__“Alright,” the psychologist settled, adding another quick note. “Can you recall any other incidents that occurred recently? That you feel are good examples.”_ _

__Bruce sighed but his eyes lifted upward in thought. “Yeah, lemme think. Oh. I um… I almost hit my best friend at the start of the year.” The teenager decided to leave out that Tony was his boyfriend for now. “He was over at my house and we got into this argument. I… I don’t even really remember what the argument was about anymore. But he wouldn’t back down and…” Bruce remembered to be discreet when talking about his boyfriend’s condition, “and if he hadn’t had to leave suddenly, I think I probably would’ve hit him again.”_ _

__Dr. Gomez paused in his writing and pushed his spectacles up on his nose. “Again?”_ _

__Bruce blinked. Had he said that? His throat seized up. “Y-yeah. He and I um, sort of got off to a rough start. We…” the teen drummed his fingers anxiously on the arm rest, “We have a fair number of arguments actually.” He tapped his tongue against the roof of his mouth, then sputtered as his mind came to the decision to just throw his cards on the table, “And we’re-- he and I, we’re actually, um, seeing one another. Romantically.” His mouth clamped shut and he grimaced._ _

__Dr. Gomez chuckled. “You left that out when you were telling me about yourself,” he said with a bit of a smirk._ _

__The high schooler tried to return a smile but failed. He swallowed. “I’m really concerned that my anger issues could damage our relationship,” he said with solemnity._ _

__“Hm, an understandable concern,” the psychologist nodded. “You are a very responsible person for seeking help to get it under control.”_ _

__Bruce perked up. “Y-you… you think I can?”_ _

__“Of course you can,” Dr. Gomez smiled._ _

__The boy breathed out. Just hearing that from a professional, someone versed in this kind of thing, it put him at ease almost. His shoulders untensed and he let himself bask in the temporary peace he felt. The doctor had just said he could get through this. That he didn’t have to become like his father after all. That he and Tony could have a nice, _normal_ stable relationship. It felt like he was floating on air._ _

__“I would like to ask you about just one more specific, if that’s alright,” the psychologist spoke, breaking him out of his reverie._ _

__“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” Bruce acknowledged._ _

__“When you feel these bursts of anger coming on,” Dr. Gomez gestured with a circular motion at his chest, “can you describe to me any bodily symptoms you may feel?”_ _

__Bruce’s eyebrows lifted as he let out another breath, this one at the enormity of things he often felt. “Whew. Um, yeah. Uh, well... my heart will start to beat really hard. Not necessarily fast, just hard. And I get this tightness… all over. In like my muscles. Sometimes it’s hard to breathe.”_ _

__“Hmm. Mmkay,” the doctor nodded along, his pen jotting it all down. Bruce thought sardonically that the page must nearly be full by now. But then Dr. Gomez looked back up at him, folding his hands together in his lap. “Bruce, I believe what you are experiencing is known as Intermittent Explosive Disorder. It is a behavioral disorder that’s often comorbid with other mood disorders, such as bipolar disorder, though at this time I don’t see anything that would suggest that’s the case with you. There are many options for treatment, which I would be happy to go over with you and answer any questions you have.”_ _

__Bruce felt his mouth moving, but at the moment nothing was coming out. There was a name for what he was experiencing. A scientific _reason_ why he was the way he was, and better yet, a scientific way to _fix_ it. “All… all this time I just thought there was something _wrong_ with me…” Bruce said._ _

__The psychologist gave his client a warm smile. “There’s nothing at all wrong with you, Bruce. There are millions of people with mental health issues who just need the right treatment and care. It’s not at all abnormal.”_ _

__The teenager breathed out. He didn’t know if he’d be jumping off a bridge, cliff or out of an airplane, but he was going to have to find some way to thank Clint big time._ _


End file.
